


Momento Mori

by theescapist99



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Credence Barebone, But now its way too long, Everyone wants to protect Credence, Lots of Credence angst, M/M, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Protective Newt Scamander, Protective Original Percival Graves, They just disagree as to what from, This Was Supposed To Be A One Shot, This miiiiight have a dash of Crewt in it later, Top Percival Graves, Who isnt protective really, possessive Percival Graves, sadness all around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 17:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: Credence has finally begun to grow accustom to his new life with Percival Graves, who helps him battle his demons.He's so caught up in his own happiness and gratitude (amongst other emotions), that he  forgets Graves has his own demons too. And sometimes, less then healthy ways of dealing with them.AKA, in which Credence let's his hero worship blind him. And in which Graves is having problems managing his post-Grindlewald PTSD.





	1. CHAPTER I

**MOMENTO MORI**

 

**CHAPTER I**

 

It had been three months since Credence moved in with Graves.

It was a bit awkward, at first. Graves was clearly used to living alone, and Credence had to take a while to get used to having even the barest of essentials. Let alone with magic on top of all that.  

What probably didn’t help was that neither of them was good with words or expressing much sentiment. For a good while, Credence was absolutely certain that the only reason Graves insisted he stay there was due to the guilt he felt for the way Grindlewald had treated him. Credence wasn’t really one to complain though.

It’s not like he really had anywhere else to go.

Besides, he liked staying close to his new friends.

Newt, Tina, and Queenie were all so kind to him. A kindness, after all he had been through, that he felt he could never tire of. They visited him often, always asking how he was getting along. They seemed genuinely concerned. But Newts home was on another continent. Tina and Queenies’ landlord did not let boys in their apartment, nor did they really have the space for more than the two of them.

So Graves it was. Graves, who had this whole big brownstone all to himself. Who even had a guest bedroom and extra bathroom to spare. Who had more money to his name than Credence can likely even begin to imagine.

Who actually fought for custody of him after everything Graves himself had been through.

“He’ll stay with me.” Credence can remember hearing Graves firmly telling Piquery at his hearing.

“Graves,” she began, her unusual headdress gleaming as she tilted her head up, “I hardly think it’s healthy for this boy to stay with someone who shares the same face as a man —“

“With all due respect, madam president…” Graves interrupted her, a low growl in his tone “I insist the boy _will_ stay with me. If I am not allowed that much, I will be resigning from my position.”

Credence could remember the surprise he felt upon hearing Graves deliver that ultimatum. He knew he hadn’t been alone -- gasps had echoed all throughout the chamber.

His own mind had run wild thinking as to why Graves would do such a thing. From what little he knew of the real Graves, he at least knew that he placed great importance in his career. His personal life took a back seat.

 _Guilt, that’s all it is_ \-- Credence had concluded at the time, but for the first time with some uncertainty.

But he soon came to learn that wasn’t so. Picquery was not about to lose her top auror, and Graves' request was granted. (Although not without a pointed reminder that Graves was pushing it.) Credence moved in a week later.

And Graves eventually convinced him of his sincerity in his own, small ways.

Credence had observed Graves to be rather off putting and sometimes downright rude to everyone else. But when they had moments alone, Credence almost felt that Graves treated him with kid gloves. Sometimes, it was in the way Graves just looked at Credence – a hardened expression becoming just a bit softer. Sometimes, it was in the way he would insist Credence change into warmer clothes. Sometimes, it was in the pastries that he would bring home from a long day of work, and the way he remembered what Credence took a liking to. And then how he would bring more of that next time around.

In the grand scheme of things, it was hardly much.

But to Credence, it was _everything_.

It was _everything_ to just know that _finally_ , someone cared.

That someone not only acknowledged his existence, but considered it on a regular basis. That was enough to win Credence over. Enough for him to consider Graves, the real Graves, the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Of course...there were still difficulties.

Graves was a very private man. Based off what Tina had told him, he always had been. But after the Grindlewald incident, he withdrew even more.

Often, he would even ask to be alone.

Sometimes, Graves said, he needed what he called “breathing room”.

He would go into his study, magically lock the door, and just – be gone for several hours. Its not like he really had to magically lock the door. Credence knew well enough not to try and open a door that was locked, or to pester someone who needed time by themselves.

But Graves still had made it a point to tell him, “I am going to cast a spell on the door knob. Something to keep it locked. If you urgently need anything, just knock and I’ll hear you.”

Credence had only nodded.  

Obviously, Credence could hardly blame him for needing some time to cope.

They had found Graves in such a pitiful state -- tortured, scared, filthy, and on the edge of losing his sanity. They found him states away, locked off in a magically concealed building in Indiana. He had heard the details from Tina’s account. Although he didn’t understand a lot, as much of her account contained magical jargon that he had yet to really comprehend. He had many questions, but at the same time almost did not want to know. It was hard imagining the proud and majestic Percival Graves in such a state.

Unfortunately, or not, it wasn’t like Graves was about to tell him any of it himself. Every time Credence tried to broach the subject, Graves changed to a different topic sharply and obviously. He doesn’t just try to dodge talking about it, he does it in a way that screams “you don’t want to go there” without outright saying it.

 _Well enough_ , Credence supposes.

He still has his own demons to wrestle with, anyway.

He tries not to burden Graves with it, of course. He had spent his whole life suppressing his pain and anguish. It was just the way he was used to operating. So he did his best to quiet the crying, to conceal the panic attacks.

It wasn’t quite fair. He still barely had control over his own magic.

As he got more settled in to not only his new living situation but to the magical world overall, he did start  getting magical lessons from Queenie. He did not have a wand yet, but he quickly found he did not need one.

Not to do some simple charms, anyway.

They had found that out by accident – Queenie had been telling him about the Accio spell, and all he had done was simply repeat her words. The next thing he knew, a load of bread had flown right into his right hand. Newt and Tina, who had also been present at the time, were astounded.

They had tried a few more charms after that.

Sometimes they worked, and sometime they did not.

But Queenie was ever patient with him, bless her heart.

Still, he couldn’t magically lock any doors. Not as consistently as he kept having these breakdowns, anyway.

And so try as he might to stifle his whimpers and whines, Graves seemed to always find him. Granted that he was not at work, it would never take long for Credence to hear Graves’ footsteps sprinting towards him.

_Damn that well trained aurors’ ear of his._

The man had the hearing of a bat.

On the flip side, it wasn’t like Graves seemed to _know_ what to do whenever he did find Credence in a state of dismay. He would look at Credence rather helplessly, his thick eyebrows almost comically high. One of the first few times, he actually tried to offer Credence some food, as though he were a baby crying out of hunger.

But a few more times after that, Graves learned to start embracing Credence.

At first silently and awkwardly, but in the more recent days, he had even started murmuring words of comfort. It was only a bit of shushing and a low “I got you…” now and then, but Credence had to admit it made a lot of difference.

Not to mention the strong, muscular arms that learned to hold him with such firmness was also a welcome distraction.

Gradually, the panic attacks got shorter and shorter. Lord knows they still came, but finally Credence felt like he had an anchor to help ground him whenever they did.

 _Then_ there came a night where Credence, now somewhat more confident and slightly more daring, decided he wanted to return the favor.

It had been obvious that Graves was having one of his bad days.

He had come home from work with no pastries. He had greeted Credence in a rather monotone voice when Credence had met him by the door. He had barely touched the dinner that Credence had made for them (a roast chicken flavored with garlic, a classic Graves favorite). And he had, finally, hurried off to his bedroom quite early, politely informing Credence that he would be locking his door tonight.

On days such as this, Credence is usually respectful enough to simply go to his own room and stay there until Graves decided he was done doing whatever he did and came to fetch him. Or until the next morning, if it was late, when Credence would wake up and Graves would have already gone to work, but he still would find a note in the kitchen reminding him to keep warm (or something to that effect).

In both scenarios, they usually then resumed their day to day lives as though nothing had happened.

But _this_ night, Credence had felt brazen.

He also had successfully learned Alohomora at Queenie's earlier that day. He would have gladly told Graves about this during dinner had not he not been in such a clearly foul mood.

And so, after a while of debating in his own bedroom, Credence crept down the hallway to the plain white door that concealed Graves’ bedroom. He had never been inside it, only peering inside every now and then, when he needed to speak to Graves about something.

He focused, his eyes fixated on the cooper doorknob. He almost thought he heard something like glass smash in the background, but it sounded far away, and he was too focused on the task at hand to pay it any mind.

He could already feel the magic surging through his hands, itching to be released.

He whispered, “ _Alohomora_ …”

His heart jolted as the doorknob turned. His pulse pounding into a crescendo, he grabbed it and turned.

**TBC**


	2. CHAPTER II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Credence is unfamiliar with both PTSD and alcoholism -- and how the two combined can make someone very, very nasty.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER II**

What Credence walked into was…rather anti climatic.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure what had been expecting. Was there some kind of weird ritual wizards did in order to blow off steam?

Apparently, no.

The first thing that registered in his mind was the strong stench of alcohol.

He had never thought much of Graves’ drinking habits. He had known the man was partial to whiskey, often seeing the amber liquid in left over glasses that sometimes lay about. He had once, out of sheer curiosity, even asked Graves if he could try some.

Graves had eyed him warily before downing the remainder of his own glass, emptying it. “Not until you’re a bit older.” He had said, before throwing the glass nonchalantly in the sink.

Which was rather ridiculous, because Credence was already 22. But he didn’t really care enough to question it.

So what surprised him was not the stench or the presence of alcohol, but more how strong it was.

It smelled less like someone had opened a bottle, and more like someone had opened the bottle and then spilled it all on the floor. But the floor, which was a carpet made of a black shaggy material, seemed relatively dry.

The bottles, though, were plenty.

Some of them looked empty, and some of them did not. But there were multiple bottles of multiple brands scattered throughout the spacious bedroom. In the middle of them, on a nice looking bed that looked suited for four people rather than one, was a very surprised looking Graves.

His usually neat and slick hair style looked disheveled. He wasn’t dressed in his usual, impeccable fashion. Credence had of course seen him in pajamas before, it was hard to live with someone and not. But he didn’t even have that much on. He had on a long silken robe, which was black but had an unmistakable sheen to it. He had some nice white boxers on.

But besides that – nothing else.

The indents and twists and turns of his six pack and overall muscular structure were prominent. The robe exposed his stomach and his chest, which had a small amount of chest hair sprinkled atop pale skin.

“Boy.”                                                       

Graves nearly grunted the word, snapping Credence out of his – what was he doing? Staring? Admiring? Imagining? _Fantasizing?_

_Fantasizing about what?_

Credence could barely bring himself to comprehend _what_ , already feeling heat rising to his cheeks.

It’s not that he hadn’t thought of those things before.

While he hardly had time for a libido with everything going on, he could not deny that on occasion, his admiration for Graves had been tainted with feelings more than that of simple, great respect.

_But_ , God forgive him, he had always tried his best not to think about them for too long.

“I’m – I’m sorry.” Credence stammered, the confidence he had felt just minutes before rapidly melting away. “I just thought… I didn’t mean to… um…”

_Why did he do this?_

_Did he even know himself?_

Graves swung his legs over the edge of his bed. There were some plush looking slippers on the floor – black, as was many of the things Graves owned – but Graves ignored them.

He made his way towards Credence, quickly closing in the space between them, and Credence realized maybe the room was a bit smaller than he had previously thought. He simply wasn’t used to such large spaces.

“How did you get in?” Graves asked him.

His tone was low, but unhappy.

One thing Credence had come to learn about Graves was that he never yelled. Or at least, Credence had never heard him yell or shout.

When Graves was upset, his voice just sort of – lowered. He would speak slowly, but with a growl reverberating in his words. If someone was really in trouble, it went down to a whisper -- the hiss of a poisonous snake, ready to strike.

He had heard it a few times, thankfully never directed towards him, and it was honestly terrifying. Credence had been surprised to realize there were in fact, some things more frightening than his mother’s screeching.

Like the man named Gellert Grindlewald.

Like an angry Percival Graves.

Or like the moment he was currently experiencing.

Graves was close. Too close.

Closer than anyone should be with that little clothing.

All that separated them was perhaps one small footstep forward, and they’d be practically on top of each other. Credence gaped. There were explanations, a variety of them, surging through his throat. But when his mouth opened, none of them came to fruition. Graves asked again.

“How did you get in?”

That time was lower than the last.

Credence forced himself to speak. There was an unfamiliar aura coming from Percival that was scaring him. His breath reeked of whiskey and some other unidentified smells. He willed himself to start talking before Graves – he doesn’t know _what_.

“I… um… I learned Alohomora today. Um… with Queenie. I… I wanted to surprise you…I --”

Credence stopped speaking abruptly.

The fingers on Graves right hand was suddenly lightly touching Credence’s right cheek. Starting just below his eye and moving downward tracing his cheekbone. Graves eyes looked intent, scrutinizing, but of what Credence was not sure.

Credence thinks the space between them may have still managed to close even more so.

His hand stops when it falls down to Credence’s mouth, his thumb applying a bit of pressure to Credence’s bottom lip. His mouth was still agape -- and the feeling of his thumb there just made him open it slightly more.

Credence was _petrified_.

He wished Graves would say something, _anything_.

Instead, he remained silent and Credence was forced to only read through his emotions through his eyes. He wanted to break eye contact, but Graves’ hand kept his face frozen into its position.

In those eyes, he saw what he could only really see as lust.

_Was it lust though?_

_Or did **he** just want it to be lust? _

But there was something else – something dark.

Something wounded, vicious, and _feral_.

Credence felt a strange sensation at the pit of his stomach, and it traveled down into his privates shamefully, uncomfortably.

So lost in his own thoughts, in Graves’ gorgeous but slightly terrifying eyes, Credence barely felt Graves’ free hand wrap around his left wrist.

But he did notice when it began to hurt.

Graves had not broken their shared gaze, but he had begun to squeeze Credence’s wrist painfully hard. While Credence, thanks to his mother and the obscurus, had a rather high tolerance to pain, after a point, he could not help but release a little yelp.

But Graves still did not stop.

Credence felt panic welling up inside him. A darkness long forgotten, hibernated for much too long, began to cloud his vision. Or perhaps it was only the tears that were springing out that blurred his sight. It didn’t hurt enough to make him cry, but he wasn’t crying out of pain.

He was crying because he was absolutely, _positively_ mortified.

“Mr. Graves…” Credence whimpered, a formality that he also had not used in some time “…please. I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry…”

A crack like a whip.

Credence felt a sharp and powerful sting on his right cheek.

It took him a moment to realize that the hand that had been intimately stroking his face just moments before had struck him – probably not as hard as Graves was capable of, but surely enough to leave a mark.

Credence couldn’t take it anymore.

He felt like he was three months back, back in the face of the imposter Graves that people had, for so long, assured Credence the real Graves was nothing like.

Old emotions, raw and gutting washed over him like a huge wave in the black ocean that was the obscurus inside him.

Some of it anger. Some of it fear. Some of it the nagging voice that never seemed to be too far behind, the one that reminded him that everything bad in his life was his own fault. His own doing.

_He brought this on himself._

Credence broke out in full blown sobs then. Somewhere in the room, a bottle exploded.

It was unknown if it was Credence or Graves who was feeling too much emotional intensity to control their magic, however.

Still, the sound finally seemed to break Graves out of his reverie. Credence, through the tears and the crying was unable to look Graves in the face and see his expression, but still managed to hear him say again lowly but still firmly:

“Get. Out.”

Credence tried to regain control of himself, or at least to say something. To ask Graves why he would do this. To ask him what he did wrong. To apologize. To explain. _Something_. But no words came and he just continued to stammer between sobs.

“Get out _now_.” Graves emphasized, and he even opened the door, pushing Credence back slightly.

That was enough to unroot him.

Credence walked backwards, stumbling, and finally, fleeing.

He heard the door slam behind him as he found his way back to his room.

 

 

* * *

 

The next morning was a Tuesday. So Credence had woken up, fully expecting to find an empty house.

His memory of the other night was somewhat blurry. Or at least, it began to blur around the time he felt the obscurus peeking out its ugly head. But he knew that whatever happened, it had to be bad for the obscurus to threaten to resurface at all.

He got out of his own bed, a smaller but still generous mattress, and turned to face the dresser. On it, a mirror showed him his own reflection.

An angry red mark still sat on his right cheek. Stark in contrast to the pale skin, and the long locks of black hair that framed his face.

_Oh._

_Right._

_What had all that been about?_

On one hand, Credence realized he had been disobedient.

Graves had specifically asked him not to interrupt him during his times alone, and last night Credence did just the opposite. But yet on the other hand, it had just been so out of character for Graves. Even if Credence had messed up or done things wrong in moments before, Graves had hardly ever been upset or angry with him before.

In fact, Percival Graves had sometimes treated him like the most fragile porcelain.

When MACUSA had questioned Credence, he could remember Graves fighting against it. He felt it would be too distressful for Credence. Despite his entire office insisting that it was for the better, that Credence may have useful information to use for Grindlewald’s trial, Graves still said no.

“Hasn’t he been through enough already?” Graves had argued, “You would do well to leave him _alone_ , Seraphina.”

_But yet…_

Credence did not get the chance to finish his thought. There was a knock on the door.

“Credence?” Graves’ voice carried through from outside the room, “Are you up?”

His pulse quickened.

_Why was he here?_

_Shouldn’t he be at work?_

_Was he in trouble for coming into his room last night?_

His mind was racing again. _Did he mess up that badly?_ _Did Graves stay home because he needed to arrange for Credence to be sent away?_

“Credence?” Graves called again.

But then, he heard it. There was concern in his voice, a sound that Credence had not realized he missed as sorely as he did until he heard it just then. The concerned tone was enough to convince Credence, and he went to open the door.

As it swung open, a fully dressed Percival was revealed. His hair back in its usual place, his outfit as though he was dressed for work either way. Still, it was his eyes -- his eyes were the one thing Credence was most relieved to see back to normal.

Graves looked at Credence with that familiar endearment that Credence had only recently been getting used to.

He was almost questioning if last night was just a dream, or something he imagined through a flashback, when Graves promptly engulfed him into a tight embrace. This was also uncharacteristic – however, at least it was in a good way.

Into Credence’s neck, Graves murmured, “I am _so_ sorry, my boy.”

Credence collapsed into the hug, confused.

But mostly just relieved.

His Graves was back. The Percival Graves that he knew, that he had come to know as his anchor, was here.

And Credence, so _desperate_ to cling onto his new life with Graves, thought foolishly and hopefully, that perhaps the other night was just a freak accident.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Find me on tumblr at http://phantasmiicparade.tumblr.com/


	3. CHAPTER III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The child is dying." - Gellert Grindlewald

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER III**

 

The next few weeks were strange.

The way Graves treated Credence was a level of apologetic that Credence would not have thought humanely possible.

Graves began to downright spoil Credence. Whereas before he played the role of the protective, caring, but still stern legal guardian, Graves now seemed like someone determined to splurge all his money on a new paramour.

But what Credence really wanted was not the new clothes he was finding on his bed in the morning, or the ungodly amount of sweets and candy Graves sometimes brought home, or the stacks of books he suddenly owned. What he really wanted was an explanation – because what Credence got just made him more confused.

“I am so sorry, my boy.” Graves had repeated multiple times during the lunch he had taken them out on that sunny day after the incident. He had actually called off work, which in itself was a profound reflection of just how sorry he was. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m so used to living alone I suppose, let alone with someone as young as you are. I avoided having any children for a reason. But Credence, I did tell you to never come in my room when I’ve locked it. If you needed me, you should have knocked. I –“

“Are you ok?” Credence had interrupted him. “Are – are there things you want to talk about?”

He had been looking down at his sandwiches, avoiding eye contact again. While he had made progress with looking people in the face while speaking to them, the other night had pretty much thrown all that out the window.

But Credence had still continued, “If you want to talk to me, you know, you can. About whatever’s bothering you. That’s why I went in. I just wanted to talk to you. I can tell when you’re mad and I…”

He had trailed off, his resolve ending there.

He wasn’t really sure what he could promise Graves as far as providing comfort went. He could listen, certainly, but its hard to say he would be able to provide any advice.

Any good advice, anyway.

He wasn’t looking up to see it, but Graves only pursed his lips at that, and let out a small hum.

“Credence.” Graves had started again after a pause, “Just know that I would _never_ intentionally hurt you. I love you, my boy.”

_I love you, my boy._

The statement played on repeat in Credence’s mind for days to come.

Was it something he said just to change the subject? Because Graves didn’t want to talk about whatever was bothering him?

Graves had been sentimental in ways before, but never _that_ sentimental.  

And quite honestly, Credence had never heard those words spoken to him before.

He had occasionally over heard the phrase when he was passing out flyers for Ma, when the only entertainment he had was to eavesdrop on the conversations of passerby. (Never to be rude of course, but sometimes you had to do something to distract yourself from the freezing cold).

Usually though, usually he only heard it said before between people who appeared to be in a relationship. Between young boys and girls, holding hands and exchanging giggles.

_Kisses._

Credence, at one point, imagined a kiss between him and Graves. Small, soft, with Graves caressing his face the way he did before he ---

_Oh._

Credence had been noticeably distant with Graves for the rest of that day.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tina and Newt will be over for dinner tonight.” Graves said one Saturday, as they walked through Main Street.

It had been a pleasant day out. Often, Graves enjoyed spending weekends doing errands but still taking detours to treat Credence to something nice. This day, it was ice cream. Credence did love ice cream, and the way it looked atop a cone. He had actually thought it was a wizarding thing but Graves informed him, (not without a sad smile) that no – ice cream was just a normal thing, that normal children tend to love.

“Oh?” was Credence responded with through his lopping up of his vanilla scoop.

“Yes, it was her idea as Newt is in town.” Graves said with a small smirk, “I thought you might like that.”

Credence nodded.

He would like that.

Newt popped in and out of their lives often, but he usually only saw him at Queenie and Tinas place. He was unsure if he had ever seen Newt over at Graves – err, _their_ home. Whenever he would run into Newt though, Newt had always seemed very concerned about Credence’s wellbeing. He had always asked him detailed questions about how he was getting along, and about the, what they called the obscurus, inside him.

Generally, most people seemed to want to avoid the subject.

And so it was – a few hours later, Credence was setting a table for a nice dinner. He had made some steaks, a mighty serving of mashed potatoes, and a golden apple cobbler pie. All without magic – Credence still did not possess the skill to cook with magic, and none the less he enjoyed cooking.

He had to do something around here. He had asked Graves if he could possibly consider finding a job, in order to help out a bit more --- a request Graves had promptly and firmly denied. So, cooking it was. Even then, he had to insist to Graves that he was doing it as a hobby and not out of a need to contribute (although it was still partly that as well, but Graves need not be told that).

“That smells lovely, Credence.” Graves said as he strolled into the dining room.

“Thank you, Percival.” Credence smiled, looking up from arranging a bit of silver wear.

He could not help but notice how debonair the man looked. He was not wearing a suit and tie, but still had on a rather nice dress shirt and dress pants -- both black, but expensive looking. And he had a cologne on that smelled rather musky.

He noticed the smell more and more prominently as Graves was suddenly close to him, his broad hands both placed bilaterally on Credence’s shoulders.

Credence could feel himself instantly start flushing.

“I really need to find a way to repay you for all these wonderful meals you’ve been making for us and our guests. You really don’t have to.”

“Oh – oh no, that’s quite alright.” Credence started but was cut off by Graves lips, which had suddenly stamped themselves on his forehead. Graves pressed down hard for a few seconds before removing the contact, and then he turned around and walked away like it was nothing.

Credence, however, was frozen in place until he heard a knock on the door.

The dinner itself went well.

 It was mostly Tina and Graves chatting, and often about things that Credence had the sense he knew nothing about. That’s to be expected, he supposed, as they did work together. There was one moment, however, that piqued Credence’s interest.

“Have you considered what I said about Dr. Ownbey?” Tina had asked over a forkful of mashed potatoes.

Graves scoffed in a way that Credence had become familiar with whenever they were beginning to touch on subjects he wasn’t particularly comfortable talking about.

“I hardly think that’s necessary, Tina.”

“Sir.” Tina tutted, and looked at Graves in such a way that asked, “are you being serious?”.

“Tina.” Graves mimicked her in an annoyed tone. “I think we would do well to speak of this another time.”

Credence kept his head down but had to fight asking out loud.

Who was this doctor? Why would Graves need a doctor? Was he sick?

The idea made Credence feel concerned, along with a few other negative emotions he did not know where to place. He rather resented the idea that Graves could be keeping even more from him than previously thought. He wasn’t sure if he would ever really admit it to anyone, much less himself, but he could not help but be a little bitter about the fact that Graves had seen him at his very weakest, both physically and emotionally, when Graves wouldn’t trust him with so much as what he did in his alone time, or what might be on his mind.

Or if there were something wrong with him.

In his own discomfort, he only barely noticed someone else who also seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable.

Newt had always been reserved, so it was not so much the silence. But Credence could feel an uneasiness around Newt that went beyond his typical presence. Occasionally, he even noticed Newt glancing in his direction. Although, whenever Credence looked over at him, Newt would again be looking down at his own plate.

He seemed restless.

Anxious.

At first, Credence attributed to the fact that Newt simply was not good friends with Graves the way Tina was. He had never thought much into it, but from the few interactions he had seen of them together, their conversations seemed rather clipped and confined to small talk. But Credence had always figured that they simply had not had a chance to spend much time together the way everyone else had. Besides, its not like Graves was the most approachable character with anyone. Sometimes, Credence himself felt intimidated just being within his vicinity.

So imagine his surprise when, after dinner was done, Newt asked to speak with Graves in private.

He and Tina had been just about to leave, it seemed. But when Newt had asked, Tina did not appear taken aback. She almost seemed like she expected it. But it was hard to tell with her. While Credence felt he had a particular knack for reading people, Tina was always harder to read than most. Similar to Graves, it seemed she had a well trained poker face.

 _Auror thing_ , he figures.

She did not look at Graves, but kind of nodded her head and went off to the first floor bathroom. Graves, eyebrows raised, followed Newt away from the dining table and off into the kitchen.

Credence was curious.

 _Extremely_ curious _._

 _Yes well…you were curious the time you walked in on Percival weren’t you?_ He reminded himself _. Don’t go meddling again._

He sat at the table for a few more minutes.

He thought to perhaps wash the dishes, but firstly remembered that Graves always insisted on magically washing them, and secondly remembered that the kitchen was where Newt and Graves were speaking. Privately.

More secrets.

_Well…_

_…its not like anyone specifically **told** him not to listen in. _

After slightly more deliberation, Credence made up his mind. It was around two minutes later and now Credence had grown impatient as well as curious. With the nice way Graves was treating him after the incident, Credence felt such a harsh reaction unlikely to happen again, anyway.

He got up, walked in the direction of the kitchen, and then stopped just short of the door. He debated opening it and simply asking if everything was alright.

But he could hear everything from here.

“…please Mr. Graves, see reason…”

That was Newt.

He sounded exasperated.

“ _Reason?_ What reason is there for me to see?”

That was Graves.

He sounded _mad._

“I am the boys legal guardian.” He heard Graves say, that growl low in his voice, “How in the hell do you expect me to take care of him in an entirely different continent? He is staying here, Scamander.”

“He will die!” Newt suddenly exclaimed, an edge to his voice that Credence had never heard before, “He will die if I do not get him to Dumbled –“

“Fuck Dumbledore.” Graves scoffed. “If he feels the matter is so pressing, he can come here himself. And besides, Credence hasn’t had an incident with the obscurus in months. With a proper home, with _me_ , he appears to be stable. Out there, god knows what might happen.”

“It was dormant for some time in Arianna as well, Mr. Graves.” Newt spoke a bit more calmly, but still sternly. “She had not lost control for some time until –“

“Credence is different.”

“Yes, Mr. Graves. He is different. He is strong and he is resilient.” There was a pause. ”But that is not to say that the obscurus still won’t kill him eventually. Could be years. Or days.” Newt sighed then, before finishing slightly dejectedly, “A couple of months. I just ask he come back with me for a couple of months. I will take care of him, you know I will. Tina will keep you updated and –“

“That’s _enough_. I said no. That is my answer, _Scamander._ Now – _get out_.”

Ah, and there was that angry hiss.

A chill shot down Credence’s spine.

It rooted him on the spot, and he was unable to force himself to move before the door opened.

**TBC**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me at https://phantasmiicparade.tumblr.com/
> 
> Also thanks for all the lovely reviews thus far!


	4. CHAPTER IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know nothing, Credence Barebone.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER IV**

“Oh. Credence.”

Newt had practically collided into him on his way out of the kitchen, only the door dividing them. Credence gaped at him first, and then Graves, who came out of the room a few seconds later.

“Credence?” Graves looked at him worriedly, “Are you ok?”

“Ye- yes, Percival.” Credence replied, head bowed.

Newt nodded. He then leaned forward and engulfed Credence into a small hug.

“Please, Credence.” Newt said into Credence’s ear. “Let me know if you need anything at all.”

Credence said nothing as Newt pulled away. Newt did not hug Graves, but gave him a curt, rather stiff nod. Graves’ only response was to raise his eyebrows at him, but they then locked eyes in a rather tense stare.

“Ready? Newt?”         

Tina’s voice broke the awkward moment. She was at the end of the hall, her arms crossed and blue coat back on. She appeared impatient.

Newt said nothing more as he went to her, then walking past her and over to the front door. There was a little sulk in his posture that didn’t miss Credences’ notice. Tina only looked back at them once and waved casually before they both opened the door and finally let themselves outside.

When the door slammed shut, Credence immediately turned to look at Graves. He was leaning against the door to the kitchen hallway, looking fatigued. But his eyes were already reciprocating Credence’s gaze. Credence was about ready to try and see if he can bring up some unrelated topic, to see if he can get away with just having been caught eaves dropping, when Graves started speaking.   


“So, I assume you heard all that, huh?”

Graves did not sound angry with him.

At least that much, he could be relieved by.

“I – yes.” Credence nodded. There was no use denying it. “At least, part of it. What…what was Newt talking about?“

Graves actually smiled at him then.

A small smile, but it was a smile none the less.

“Well, there was this girl – the sister of one of Newt Scamander’s old professors at Hogwarts, the wizarding school in Europe.”

Credence looked at him questioningly.

“There is a rumor that she was also… _well_ , that she was also an obscurus.” Graves said the last part very softly, as though it was a dirty word that should be hushed. But Credence did not think much of it, as this news was just so – unexpected.

Credence felt his pulse flutter. He had never thought of the idea that there might be more like him -- not only magical, but dealing with the same ailment. Newt had mentioned the Sudanese girl, but it seemed to be a sore subject for him, so Credence never tried to ask more details about it.

But it took a moment for Credence to realize that Graves was referring to this girl in past tense.

“What happened to her?” Credence asked, a slight break in his voice, but still looking up to meet Graves’ gaze.

“She died.” Graves said bluntly. While typically it was Credence avoiding eye contact, their typical roles were suddenly reversed. Graves was looking away as he explained, “…but we still don’t know from what. At the time it happened, there was a big fight between wizards occurring. Newt and this former professor of his insist she died from the obscurus lashing out from the stress of the fight – two of the people who were fighting were her brothers. But she could have easily just been caught in the cross fire. I admit to not knowing much about what happened, but I do know the talk of her being an obscurus is more hearsay than actual fact.”

“I see.” Was all Credence could think to say. Although he did not have not much knowledge of this little girl, he could not help but feel for her. Whether or not she was an obscurus -- to have her brothers fighting, and to be caught in the crossfire…

The image of a ruined church flashed through his mind. His Ma’s body was strewn on the floor, dead. Chastity’s corpse, was also lifeless on the ground just yards away. And then there was he himself, huddled in a corner. Scared, alone, dizzy and confused.

_He had murdered them._

_Were they not caught in the crossfire too? Were they not victims of his own crossfire?_

_He had not meant to kill either of them. He only wanted to harm Ma enough to make sure she could not hurt Modesty. And Chastity – he never meant to hurt her at all._

_But they were both killed._

Credence could remember the nausea, the despair that threatened to swallow him as he hyperventilated, rocking back and forth. He had called Mr. Graves, desperate. Desperate for what, he could not say for sure. He wasn’t sure what Mr. Graves, or anyone for that matter, magical or not, could do for him then.

_He had killed his own family._

_He had committed what had to be the ultimate sin._

_He was not worthy of God’s love._

_Of anyone’s love._

_His soul would be damned to hell, for eternity._

And he could remember Mr. Graves – who he thought was Mr. Graves appearing to him. His eyes full of false concern. Credence remembered feeling some relief just at the sight of him. He still figured he was beyond saving, but at least he wasn’t alone anymore. The man, who had been the only human being to show him any comfort and compassion, was here.

And that was something.

“Help me…” he cried pitifully, “ _Oh please_ , help me…”

He remembered that Mr. Graves was asking him questions, trying to talk to him. But Credence was still too distraught to form any coherent sentences. He was honestly trying, but all he could do was try to reach out to Mr. Graves through pathetic pleas and graveling. He tried to curl into Graves, savoring the comforting smell of his clothes and wanting to bury his face into the nape of his neck.

And then… the slap.

The _first_ time that Mr. Graves slapped him.

It was funny in a sad kind of way: now that Credence really thought about it, that slap hadn’t even been as hard as the second one.

The second one, that was from the “real” Mr. Graves.

The real Mr. Graves, who was in the present embracing him.

Credence hadn’t even felt Graves’ arms come around him, squeezing him tightly as Credence hyperventilated into that same black dress shirt Credence had been admiring a few hours earlier. Credence typically isn’t aware of when panic attacks usually start. Something in him always seemed to kind of black out until he could find himself again, usually blanketed into the warmth of Graves’ being.

“Shhh….you’re okay.” Graves reassured him, giving his shoulders a little shake. He placed a gentle hand on the back of Credence’s head, his fingers running themselves through the long black locks. “I’ve got you, my boy.”

As he came to, Credence could feel his breathing steadying.

_That’s right._

The man who found him that day, huddled by the corpses of his family, was not the real Percival Graves.

_This man was._

This man who was holding him now, who told him he loved him.

_This was Percival Graves._

Graves cupped both sides of Credence’s face gently and pulled his head away from his chest. He directly looked into Credence’s eyes once more and in them, Credence saw the opposite of what he had seen that awful night that seemed like an eternity ago. He saw not only concern, but affection and sympathy.

Although…while Credence had to assure himself it was some subconscious wishful thinking, he wanted to say he did see a bit of that lust again.

 _Now why on earth would I think that?_ He argued with himself. _The man is so much older than me, and not only that but likely not an invert. He probably thinks of me as a son. Someone to fill in the void of the child he never had._

_Yes, that’s right._

But still Credence could not help but feel that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach again, with Graves so close to him. That feeling that traveled down to parts that should only be used for voiding. Or at least, that’s what Ma always said.

“Credence.” Graves spoke, his tone concerned but serious, “Listen to me. I know Newt Scamander is a friend to you and to Tina, and you are both very dear to me. I mean the man no offense or ill will. However, I am very apprehensive about his… interests. I worry that he may be more concerned about the obscurus inside you, rather than, well… _you,_ as a person.”

“I don’t think Mr. Scamander would lie to…” Credence rasped out, finding his voice again. While Graves had said he meant no offense, Credence, for some odd reason, still felt slightly defensive at the attack on Newt’s character. But he figured that he would have felt the same way if someone were to insult Graves. Maybe worse.

“I am not saying he’s lying.” Graves sighed, letting his hands drop from Credence’s face. Credence’s gaze followed the dropped hands, still craving after their warmth.

_Craving another caress?_

“The professor that I mentioned, the one whose sister died. His name is Albus Dumbledore.” Graves continued to talk as he walked back to the dining room to start cleaning up, and Credence trailed behind him.

“He is known to be a very eccentric man. I have never met him, and to be honest I have no desire to. I have heard much about him, and not much good.”

Graves began to wave his wand around when they reached the dining table, and plates and such went flying into the air. “Tina has told me Newt Scamander, however, sees him as the smartest guy in the world. And he wasn’t shy about informing me that he was acting under Dumbledore’s council just now. He wants to take you back to Europe with him so they can run some experiments on your obscurus. Honestly, Scamander seems a little too keen on trying to get you into that suitcase of his. While a nice guy he may very well be, he is also a known magical creature fanatic and collector. The obscurus inside you, technically, is a magical creature. So you’ll forgive me if I am less than enthusiastic at the idea of handing you off to an over enthused magizoologist and his mentor that by all accounts --  pardon my language --  is rumored to be bat shit insane.”

Credence nodded.

He supposed he understood Graves’ logic. He almost wanted to still defend Newt’s name, and to tell Graves that he genuinely _does_ believe Newt cares about Credence as a person, and not just a beast like he was implying. But he also knew that it was difficult to sway someone when they already had their minds made up about another person.

Its not something Credence could really put into words anyway. He isn’t quite sure he has any specific reasons to believe Newt actually cares. He just knows it in the same way he knows this Graves is different form the imposter Graves (or the Graves of the slapping incident).

But on the flip side, Credence isn’t all that sure of how much he _does_ know.

He _thought_ he knew that the imposter Graves cared about him. Before he killed Ma and Chastity, if anyone would have argued otherwise, he would defend that idea with his dying breath.

He had been so sure.

And in the end, he was _wrong_.

In the end, Grindlewald was just using him.

Was it _really_ that farfetched that perhaps Newt might be trying to use him too?

Newt had shown him the collection of creatures inside his suitcase before. He _was_ quite the enthusiast. If not for Tina and Queenie, Credence would have wondered if it was possible for Newt to really love another person the way he loved his creatures. Newt always seemed so awkward around people. But with his creatures, he shone.

 He remembered Newt grinning as he showed Credence the occamies, he remembered Newt rambling on about all the different kinds of creatures in the magical world. He had talked so fast, with such glee, it was impossible for Credence to even _begin_ wrapping his head around what he was saying.

He also remembered Newt always asking him about the obscurus:

“Have you felt it much, Credence?”

“Is it causing you any discomfort, Credence?”

“Forgive me if this is too personal, but what did it feel like? When it would take over?”

“How on earth have you managed to fight it, Credence?”

_“Have you found the child, Credence?”_

Grindlewald’s words slithered through his thoughts as he felt his mood grow darker and darker.

_Damn him._

“Alright there, Credence?”

Thankfully, _his_ Percival Graves spoke up before he spun out of control for a second time that night. The table had been completely cleared and now Graves was just watching Credence carefully. Credence shot him a reassuring smile.

“Yes, Percival.”

“Good.” Graves smiled back, “Lets get you off to bed.”

Graves came around and slung an arm around Credence’s shoulders. Credence was taken aback, but it was not as startling as the forehead kiss, at the very least. They began to walk out of the dining room that way, and then Credence remembered something.

“Oh.”

“Oh, what?” Graves inquired.

“Well – I mean, its nothing but – well –maybe I misheard but -- “ Credence stammered for a second before gathering his thought, “Did Newt really say I was going to _die_?”

The smile that had graced Graves’ lips was quickly wiped out.

“Well,” he began, his arm still across Credence’s shoulders, “What is difficult about this is that obscurus such as yourself are not very common. So, we don’t have a lot of information to go on, unfortunately. We do know that they usually _do_ die at a terribly young age. However, you have not, obviously. So there lies the – I’d say problem, but it’s a good thing, really. You are a rarity of a rarity. You are _very_ special, Credence.”

The words of that sentence hit Credence with a sickening familiarity. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if there was any way real Graves could know all the things the imposter Graves said to him. He imagined Graves had been briefed on what happened, but he didn’t really see how the real Graves could know the specifics of their conversations, let alone the exact phrasing.

Graves continued speaking.

“What we do know of obscurus are that they are born from abuse and suppressed magic. I remember you said when you were living at the church, your obscurus would show up in some form every couple of nights or so, correct?”

Credence nodded.

“Well its been nearly five months now. And as far as I know and as far as you’ve told me, we haven’t heard a peep from it. Am I wrong?”

Credence just kind of stared at the closest wall.

He wasn’t sure how much Graves remembered of the slapping incident. Credence could barely remember himself. He did remember that he felt _it_ bubbling, and maybe it had emerged slightly but he couldn’t have known if it had been aroused to a noticeable or visible point.

But he wasn’t about to go bringing _that_ up. He shook his head.

Graves apparently did not catch or think anything of the pause Credence took before answering, because he just went on talking.

“I think, if I may be so boastful, my boy, by helping to bring you into a more – well -- _normal_ environment, we may have just made that obscurus nothing more than a benign tumor. Also, I’m sure it helps that Queenie has been giving you some magical exercise, so your magic isn’t quite _so_ repressed. Of course, I don’t know that there is any actual cure for an obscurus, nobody does. And your situation is not only unusual in circumstance, but in outcome too. Simply because you have survived this long and continue to survive. And not only that, but you have managed to somehow reduce the incidents of it taking over. I can only say that whatever this is, whatever we are doing – it seems to be working fine. If Scamander tries to get the obscurus out, which, by the way, killed that Sudanese girl the last time he tried it – I just… I don’t know what would happen. But the last thing I want to do is put you at any risk. Not when you seem to be doing so well. I just don’t want to lose you, my boy. I don’t think…”

Graves had trailed off. Credence looked at him fondly, feeling much more reassured that Graves had his best interests in mind. He suddenly felt awful for even doubting the man, after all the love and support he had shown him.

“Of course.” Credence agreed. Graves smiled at him again.

They had reached Credence’s bedroom door at some point. Graves had removed his arm and now was beginning to turn away in the direction of his own room.

“Good night, Credence.”, he said halfway through a stifled yawn.

“Good night, Percival.” Credence returned.

He turned away himself to open his door, when Graves spoke again.

“Oh and Credence…”

Credence spun around, “Yes?”

“I’ll be locking my door tonight. Sleep well.”

He did not look at Credence as he said it, only walking into his own bedroom and nearly slamming the door behind him.

He heard the door click as it locked.

And while Credence knew it was likely just in his head, the scent of whiskey suddenly filled his nose like the smell of leather that haunted him long after his old belt had been thrown away.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me at https://phantasmiicparade.tumblr.com/


	5. CHAPTER V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence learns the meaning of Valentines Day.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER V**

 

Another week passed without incident.

Credence kept to himself when Graves needed the space, and Graves seemed as sweet and affectionate as ever. In the way that Graves knew how to be, at least. Credence noticed an excess of sweets being brought home to him after Graves came home from work, most of it of the chocolate variety. He would never want to seem ungrateful, but he did worry that his belly was getting a little pudgy from all this extra food. So he just kept graciously accepting them.

There was something else though.

He noticed the packaging of said sweets becoming suddenly more – tacky.

More specifically, they were very _colorful_.

Credence marveled at one a particular night, when Graves was handing him the box in the nonchalant way he always did.

“Whats wrong?” Graves had asked him. “Don’t you like them?”

“Oh!” Credence startled, immediately panicked at the idea of seeming rude, “No, it’s not that. I love them… I just….what kind of box _is_ that? I just, I haven’t seen much like it. Is it a wizarding thing?”

Graves looked confused for a moment, purveying the box himself. It was a bright pink, in a strange shape that Credence did not quite have a name for. It was somewhere between a circle and a triangle, perhaps – like someone had taken a complete circle but then cut a V on the top and then made a V at the bottom. And it was….frilly.

Graves mouthed an “oh”, suddenly understanding.

“Well, its Valentine’s Day soon. Merchants like to sell chocolates in heart shaped boxes around Valentine’s Day.” He explained.

“What is Valentine’s Day?”

Graves looked uncomfortable at Credence’s question. He was quiet for a few seconds, and then he scoffed, “It’s just a silly holiday, dedicated to couples and romance and all that nonsense. It’s really more or less just a marketing ploy to get people to buy things for people they --- _care about_. And they often do have good sales on these things, which is why I’ve been getting so many lately. Since, after all, you seem to like...”

Graves was trailing off, but Credence wasn’t sure why. If he could see his own face though, he might have understood. -- his expression changed to that of a deer in headlights back at the words ‘couples’ and ‘romance’.

Graves cleared his throat and Credence seemed to snap out of it.

“ _Anyway_ , if they bother you I can sto –“

“No!” Credence exclaimed suddenly, making Graves flinch a little.

“Don’t… don’t stop, I mean.” Credence said a bit more softly. If he had not averted his eyes just then, he might have seen the blush that was beginning to creep into Graves’ cheeks.

There was another few seconds of awkward silence.

“Yes, well.” Graves finally spoke, but Credence still didn’t look up at him, his eyes suddenly very fascinated with his own feet. “It is this coming Friday – Valentine’s Day, I mean. So after the weekend all this annoying hogwash should be over and done with.”

Credence saw him put aside the heart-shaped box on a nearby table and Graves walked off, leaving him alone to process this new information.

That conversation had happened on Tuesday.

In the two days that followed, Credence became rather obsessive about the idea of Valentine’s Day:

_A day to buy things for people you care about?_

_Wasn’t that Christmas?_

_Was there two days?_

Of course, Ma had never given Credence any Christmas gifts. But he knew all about Christmas considering that every year, she would require him to wrap about a hundred boxes with colorful paper, which she would later give off to the local children as a sign of the churches charity and generosity.

She never mentioned a Valentine’s Day though.

 Was it only a couple’s thing?

That would make sense, considering her hatred for any kind of public affection between couples. He would hear her mutter under her breath whenever they would see couples near their meetings, especially if they were being overtly obvious about it.

_“Sinners.”_

Credence wondered what she would have thought of the idea of Graves buying Credence a gift meant for lovers. Then he quickly tried to think of something else, as the answer was highly unpleasant.

_He’s only been giving these to you because he knows you like sweets, and as he said, there are merchants selling them just about everywhere. That makes sense._

_…But what if he wasn’t?_

Was it possible that Credence was misinterpreting this whole thing?

He knew Graves well enough by now to know that if this was some kind of gesture of romance, Graves was not one to come out and admit to it. His awkward, over exaggerated avoidance of admission of sentimental intent was exactly the kind of way Graves _would_ express that kind of sentiment.  Credence could hardly imagine Graves ever getting down on one knee and presenting a bouquet of flowers to anyone.

Should Credence get him something in return?

Of course, Credence did not want to buy anything. The only money he had was Graves’ money – and while Graves always insisted that he was welcome to use any amount of it, Credence thought it would be rather silly to give someone a gift that had been bought with their own money. So he resolved to try and make something.

And unfortunately, he did not have a whole lot of time to do it.

He got to work on reading through the cookbooks he had recently obtained, focusing on the ones with baking sections in them. He had not done much baking, considering the fact that Graves already liked to buy so many sweets for Credence that he himself did not partake much in. He wasn’t sure quite what he wanted to do, but when Graves went out to work, Credence skipped his usual magic lessons with Queenie and snuck away to the store to buy the needed ingredients.

By the time Friday evening came around, Credence had managed to construct a small dark chocolate cake.

One of the reasons that Graves had always cited for not eating many of the sweets he brought home was the fact that he was only partial to dark chocolate – so the flavor had been a no brainer. The recipe was simple enough; Credence seemed to have a knack for cooking and making all kinds of foods. It wasn’t out of any experience, but appeared to be a natural skill.

It was the structure that was rather…embarrassing.

Credence had _tried_ to imitate this heart shape that seemed to be the symbol of Valentine’s Day. The keyword there being: _tried_.  It really looked more like two separate long chocolate cakes that mashed together at their ends – the V was much too deep, and the tips were unevenly and overtly pointed. He had never really thought about it before, but he realized then that while he had found that he excelled in making good food, he had never really needed to make it look presentable or pretty.

Credence was disappointed in himself, but tried to remember that it was better than _nothing_.

He waited eagerly to Graves to come home.

Which he eventually did, about an hour late.

Credence almost jumped out of his bed at the sound of the front door opening, unable to stop the grin that spread his lips.

 

“Credence.” Graves greeted him when Credence went to go meet him at the door. He smiled when he saw him, and Credence’s heart flitted happily at the sight of not one but _two_ heart shaped boxes in Graves’ hand. Both were bright red, and actually looked rather nice.

Perhaps they weren’t so tacky after all.

“Percival.” Credence responded, trying not to sound _too_ enthusiastic.

“How are you, my boy? You seem to be in a pleasant mood.” Graves said as he placed the chocolates down on a counter.

“I...I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes – in the dining room.”

Credence began to lead Graves there, who followed him one eyebrow raised. The cake had already been set out on the big table, as pathetic as the appearance of it was. Credence had placed it there minutes before Graves had come home, wanting it to still be warm but too eager to keep it hidden.

When Graves saw it, he could not hide the flicker of confusion that passed through his expression.

Credence did not fail to notice it, but did not say anything, only stood there waiting for Graves to speak first.

“It’s a cake?”

Graves eventually said, stating the obvious.

“Well, yes…” Credence mumbled, worrying his bottom lip, “It’s a heart shaped cake. Like those boxes. I made it for you… for Valentine’s day.”

Graves stared at him for a moment -- then looked back at the cake -- then looked back at Credence.

Credence was starting to feel twinges of anxiety when, suddenly, Graves burst out laughing.

“My boy…” Graves said through chuckles, “You didn’t have to do this.”

Credence blushed a little and broke eye contact as he said, “I wanted to… for you… I mean you’ve given me so much…I…”

Credence found himself enveloped in Graves’ arms a moment later, and a wave of pure euphoria came over him. Graves’ arms squeezed tightly against his frame, and Credence allowed himself to bury his face into Graves’ neck. If he was trembling or showing any other signs of nerves, he wasn’t aware. Graves seemed to be prolonging this hug, and Credence wanted to relish in it. It wasn’t very common, after all, that Graves would hold him this close as a result of something other than a panic attack.

“You have no need to thank me.” Graves spoke without breaking the embrace, “You are just about the only thing good in my life. If anything, you are the one who I owe a debt to, my love.”

_Love._

_There went that word again._

And Credence could not help it.

He just started crying.

But he was crying out of _happiness._

Out of _relief_.

Graves only pulled away from Credence when he felt his tears dampening his neck. He stepped back just enough to make it so he and Credence were looking each other in the face, his arms still loosely wrapped around him.

“Credence, I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

And he just looked so _worried._

His eyes so _concerned_ , and Credence’s heart felt like it could burst with gratitude.

Credence just couldn’t take it anymore.

Without thinking, without hesitation, Credence brought his lips to Graves and he kissed him.

It was soft and it was unlikely to win any awards for performance --- but it was a _kiss_.

His first kiss.

Credence pulled away the second he let himself think about what he was doing, but there was no taking it back.

 He did it.

It could not be undone.

He did not have much time to think about how well Graves was reciprocating. Instantly after pulling away, after coming to his senses, he wanted to _vanish_. He almost wished the obscurus would burst forward and he could literally disappear into a cloud of black smoke.

_Where was that thing when you needed it?_

But it was silent.

Maybe Graves was right.

_Maybe it was gone._

Maybe that one night, Credence had merely imagined it.

“Well.”

Graves’ voice broke through his train of thought before he could get too wrapped up in it.

“I –“ Credence already began to stammer, “I—I’m so sorry. I really – I don’t know what came over me I –“

But Graves did not seem angry. In fact, he was still smiling. It seemed to be more of a sad smile, but it was a smile none the less.

“Don’t be sorry. Come sit with me, we should talk.”

 

 

* * *

 

They went to the living room. A larger room than most in Graves’ home, and that was saying something. The living room had space for a small library to line two of the walls, although most of the books were books on law and history. In the middle was a leather couch, which was a crimson color. This is where Credence found himself now, wondering if there was any kind of spell Queenie could teach him that would allow him to turn back time and undo what he just did.

But until he could see her the following week, he was stuck and he knew it. Graves had told him to sit there and wait for him to get settled in. Around 5 minutes after Credence took his seat, Graves followed him in.

He had a glass in his hand, the amber liquid a small portion but still noticeably there.

“Do you have to...?” Credence found himself muttering as he stared at it.

“Liquid courage.” Was all Graves said in response, sighing as he sat down. He took a swig and grimaced. Credence kept quiet. That swig drained nearly all of it, so it was not like it was a whole lot. Occasionally, Graves _did_ have a very small amount in front of him that did not appear to affect him much.

 _Still_ , he had been feeling resentful of alcohol lately.

But now probably was not the time to talk about it.

“Credence.” Graves started after he set the glass down. “I want you to know, first off, that when I say I love you, I mean it.”

Credence waited for the eventual, ‘I love you but not in that way’ he figured was coming. He had braced himself for it. He had found though that sometimes expecting something still did not make it hurt any less, so he still felt relatively afraid.

“…and I have, _myself_ , felt desire for you in the same way. I won’t even deny that that had some influence in taking you in. You are beautiful inside and out, my boy. I just want you to have _no_ doubts in my image or impressions of you. I would never turn you away out of a lack of mutual affection or wanting.”

_…could he have misheard?_

Credence only looked at him, unable to hide his shock.

_Was this really happening?_

“However.”

_Oh._

“I am much, much older than you Credence.” Graves appeared to struggle admitting this. He had a grimace on his face then that had nothing to do with alcohol. “Not only that, I have stayed single as long as I have for a reason – I’m not good…for _anyone_. While I may have noticed your affections, and while I may have pondered on my own, while none of this comes as a surprise to me – the simple fact is, you deserve _so_ much better. With someone your own age. With a girl, preferably -- if you can find one you like. It is _hard_ being an invert among wizards as it is with no-majs. I know it’s difficult – but for your own safety, that may be best.”

Credence mulled his response over, and there was silence for a few moments. If Graves’ glass magically refilled itself, he didn’t notice. He was thinking a whirlwind of different thoughts and feeling a whirlwind of different emotions – but it all came back to one response:

“I don’t want either of those things. I want you. You _are_ good for me. You’re the best thing for me, in fact. I… I love you as well, and in the same way I _think_ you love me.”

He blurted out his words.

Graves scoffed a little as he took another swig.

Silence again.

Credence wasn’t sure to make of where this was going.

“I’m not good for anyone.” Graves only repeated then, “Credence, as your guardian – and I _am_ your guardian – there is no way I can possibly consent to any of this…responsibly. “

Credence felt a surge of annoyance at that.

 

Graves tone was rather condescending for his taste. He spoke to Credence as though a child and Credence felt he was trying his best to put on his parental mask as a front to avoid doing anything he might regret.

_In order to fight giving in._

And he actually _did_ notice Graves mulling around another filled glass then, that golden brew sloshing around the cup. He remembered Graves refusing to share any, chiding him while saying “Maybe when you’re older.”  -- when he knew full well that Credence was an adult.

An adult who could make his own choices, consent to his own relationships, who knew what he wanted, and who **_certainly_** could drink alcohol.

His self-control astonishingly low today, he grabbed the glass from Graves hand before Graves could protest, and he tilted the liquid into his own mouth.

All of it went in.

Credence nearly choked as it flooded his tongue, and he could feel was his entire oral cavity _burning_.

 Instead of spitting it out, he swallowed it in.

If he wasn’t so caught up in trying to suppress his gagging ( _Good god it tasted awful_ ), he might have laughed at the comical, aghast expression on Graves’ face.

“…You are just full of surprises today, aren’t you my boy?” he finally said once he recovered from the initial shock.

He said it very softly.

_Uh oh._

_Now he sounded annoyed._

Credence met his eyes, still reeling from the horrible taste. He didn’t apologize this time, still not feeling very sorry at all. A bit baffled as to why on earth Graves wanted to drink this god awful beverage as much as he did, _yes_ , but sorry, _no_.

Graves took a deep breath.

“We need to get you to bed.”

 “I’m not a kid.” Credence said sulkily.

“Yes, Credence, I can see that.” Graves said bitterly, and Credence was not entirely sure what to make of that the context of that comment. “But you have never had alcohol before this, correct?”

Credence only nodded.

“What you just drank was not much normally.” Graves explained, “But for someone with _no_ experience to liquor, let alone beer, such as yourself, that was _way_ too much for you to handle. I daresay you are not going to be feeling very well for the rest of the night, at the very _least_.”

Credence tried to understand, but incidentally he could feel his thought process getting….fuzzy.

“I want… I want you….” He could only muster, feeling his words slur on his lips.

Graves didn’t respond. He grabbed Credence by an arm and lifted him, leading them away from the couch and out of the living room.

“You really, _really_ should not have done that.”

Credence huffed. He felt like he was being chided again.

He kept quiet all the way to his bed, which Graves eventually plopped him down on. But by the time they got there, Credence was feeling quite strange indeed.

But almost in a pleasant way.

_Well, this isn’t so bad._

He suddenly felt… even more _brazen._

Graves was leaving the room. He only just caught him telling Credence “Get undressed and go straight to sleep. I’ll be checking on you in the morning.”

“Stay here.”

Graves stopped in his tracks just at the doorway, his fingers frozen on the light switch.

“ _Please_ , stay with me. Just for tonight. I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

It was something Credence had always wanted to say, even when he had been sober. He had wanted to say those words nearly every night that Graves would tell him goodnight, at least for the past few weeks. He just didn’t have the courage to say it until now.

What was that Graves called it?

 _Liquid courage_.

Credence couldn’t have known why Graves did what he did next.

 _Perhaps_ it was the fact that he felt guilty about just having turned Credence down.

 _Perhaps_ it was the fact that Graves had drunken _a bit_ more that evening than Credence had initially noticed.

 _Perhaps_ Graves was worried something might happen to Credence if he left him alone in the state he was in.

 _Perhaps_ he felt responsible for the state Credence was in.

 _Perhaps_ it was all these things combined.

But Credence didn’t think much into the reasoning, and was delighted when Graves turned around, smiled at him a little, and whispered a small, “Okay.”

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me at phantasmiicparade.tumblr.com/


	6. CHAPTER VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rape TW
> 
> While I don't like changing point of views, this chapter will be from Graves POV. For the sake of perspective and all.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER VI**

Credence was drunk.

 _Extremely_ drunk.

But if only he would have been drunk enough to pass out --- that would have made things much simpler for both of them.

Instead, Credence was just drunk enough to have _some_ automation. Simultaneously, he was also not sober enough to have much common sense.

And soon, Graves realized that neither was he.

The evening started off like this:

Graves had pulled up a chair from the dining room and set it next to Credence’s bed. Rather tired, he had planned to simply sit there until Credence fell asleep. He was really in no mood to deal with this.

It was the rotten cherry on top of a very bad cake, honestly.

As it was Valentine’s Day, lord help him, he had spent nearly his entire work day surrounded by love sick _goons_. Abernathy had spent the day badgering him for advice about a blind date he had scheduled in the evening. Crandall had made it a point to decorate as much of the MACUSA office in a horrendous shade of pink as she possibly could. Jenson made a dig at Graves for being single for yet another year in a row. Tina received an obnoxiously large bouquet of umbrella flowers from Scamander just before informing him matter-of-factly that Scamander was due to return to America tomorrow.

“Back for more research, is he?” Graves had mumbled, trying to keep the edge of annoyance out of his tone.

He had not forgotten the last exchange he had with Scamander. Tina had looked uneasy then and Graves had raised an eyebrow at her.

“Something like that, yeah…” She had responded, not meeting his gaze.

 Graves’ curiosity was peaked -- but he did not inquire further until she had turned around and said, already heading for the door, “He’ll be staying for a couple of weeks.”

“… _A couple of weeks_?” Graves had nearly gasped, “What in God’s name would Scamander need to be doing here for two whole weeks?”

But Tina hadn’t answered that.

She just walked out the door and closed it rather promptly.

It left a bad taste in his mouth, but he still wasn’t sure entirely why. Whatever any of his employees and friends did in their own time was really none of his business. He had never really had a problem with her and Scamander’s relationship, or any of Tina’s previous relationships.

Scamander himself, Graves was never a big fan of.

It wasn’t until Scamander had presented that ridiculous proposal to bring Credence back to Europe with him that he really took issue, though. Even then, Graves had admitted to himself that he may have reacted a little harshly, although that did not change his answer. Still, he understood that Scamander was just acting on Dumbledore’s behest.

He could remember how quick Credence was to jump to Scamander’s defense and felt a small surge of anger. He then reminded himself that it was still best to keep Credence away from Scamander for his own protection.

You know – because of Credence’s overly trusting nature, and all.

_Who knows what Scamander is really after, anyway?_

And then of course -- he came home to, essentially, a rollercoaster of emotions.

First, it was the cake -- which while he honestly did love. Then there was the kiss -- which excited him more than he cared to admit. And then the _awful_ , daunting moment he realized he needed to be the responsible adult that he was and let Credence down gently.

And _now_ , Credence was drunk.

Credence was drunk, and Graves -- as fatigued and frustrated as he was -- was forced to wait for him to at least knock out.

Which he figured had to be any time now, _right_?

Alas, he had no such luck.

In fact, Credence seemed more awake than Graves had ever seen him.

“I love you, Percival…” Credence slurred out repeatedly into his pillow.

He was lying down on his side so that he faced Graves. The lights were off but Graves had lit a small lamp on the dresser, so that he could see it albeit a bit dimly. The rest of the room was nearly pitch black, but in the lamps light, Credence himself was highlighted in a warm, golden glow. His long hair was disheveled, and some stray locks were draped onto flushed cheekbones.

Graves realized with a grimace that a drunken Credence was a rather ravishing sight.

Of course -- Graves tried to remind himself that he had had a few to drink as well.

_Maybe more than a few._

For all of today’s bullshit, it was kind of hard to keep track of how much he _did_ drink. During his conversation with Credence just about an hour ago, he had felt a burning in his gut that could only be put out with alcohol, and so he allowed himself to be generous without really thinking about it.  

The ugly truth was that Graves had been using alcohol as a crutch for some time now. It didn’t take much to send him running to the bottle. For the most part, Graves tried to tell himself that he had things under control. But even Tina had noticed and had been pressuring him to see a psychiatrist.

But Graves wasn’t quite ready for that yet. He was a busy man, with a busy work schedule and long work days, and no time for much else.

And _this_ day – this day had been a doozy.

Fuck Valentine’s Day, really.

“Mr. Graves…”

The formal address broke Graves out of his contemplation.

“Yes, Credence?”

“Will you touch me?”

Graves grimaced again.

“I think it would be best if you slept, my boy. We will talk in the morning.”

 _Oh yes, we will talk alright._ Graves sighed as he tried to imagine what a hung over Credence was like. At least it was Friday night, and he would not have to come into work the next day. He should be able to deal with the situation.  He wondered if the boy was prone to puking, and he silently thanked God for magic and its many possibilities for quick cleaning. If he had to do things the no-maj way, well, he’d have to hire some help.

“But Mr. Graves…”

Graves was about ready to consider conjuring a sleeping potion, when he realized Credence was getting up. He had already sat upright and was pushing the covers away.

And Graves could see that by the large, bulging outline in Credence’s pants, that Credence was very, very hard.

He should leave.

He should really, _really_ leave.

How much damage could really be done if he just left now?

…But he didn’t leave.

Because as it so happened, Graves was starting to feel pretty buzzed. He tried to recount how many glasses he had again, as he remembered that it had been some time since the last time he had gotten truly drunk in the presence of another person.

Possibly years.

Credence’s voice cracked as he suddenly said, “...it…it hurts.”

Graves was confused by the statement until he realized that Credence likely didn’t have a word in his vocabulary to describe sexual arousal. The boy literally did not know what a heart was. Chances were, he could not even begin to articulate the statement ‘I am uncomfortably horny and am in dire need of relief’ if he tried. To say he was hurting was likely the closest thing he could think of.

And it wasn’t _that_ inaccurate.

Graves knew full well what it was like to be without any kind of sexual contact for prolonged periods of time – this wretched holiday, was, as usual, an unwelcome reminder of that.

_…I suppose I wouldn’t want the boy to suffer through the same._

_…No, stop it, you don’t want to do this._

_…But if I don’t do it, who else will? I would want his first sexual experience to be with someone who truly cares for him, and I could not guarantee that with anyone else but myself._

_…He’s practically a child!_

_…Well…he did do all this to try and prove to me that he wasn’t, right?_

Before he could do much more debating, the alcohol made his decision for him. He slowly closed in on Credence, transferring himself from the chair to the edge of the mattress. Credence looked slightly surprised, but didn’t back away.

“Percival…” he breathed out slightly, looking at Graves like he was some incredible work of art. The wonder and trust and absolute _innocence_ on his face made Graves feel breathless.

Breathless and insanely _aroused_.

The whiskey reached its peak.

Graves stuffed a hand into Credence’s pajama bottoms, grabbing his cock. It was larger than Graves would have expected, and it throbbed hungrily in Graves’ hand. Credence gasped. Graves took his own turn kissing Credence then.

It was a real kiss, not quite like what happened just a few hours before. It was a hungry kiss, a kiss that opened Credence’s mouth to him at the imploring of his tongue. He leaned in, and stroked Credence’s penis as he continued to kiss him with all the ferocity that he had been holding back. Credence squirmed underneath him, moaning loudly into their lip lock.

They stayed like this for a few minutes, Graves stoking and Credence bursting at the seams. There was a wetness spilling onto both of their faces. At some point, Credence apparently started crying. Why, Graves wasn’t sure.

Honestly, he didn’t really care at the time.

All he could think about was how hot _everything_ was, literally and figuratively.

All he could think about was how long it’s been, and how Credence was finally here now, asking to be touched.

And oh _God_ , had Graves been dying to touch him.

Credence came into his hand. Graves had stopped making out with him just a few seconds before it happened. He thinks Credence may have been saying something, but it was hard to make out between the gasps, groans, moans, and general _noises_ he was making. When he did finally break, a sticky warmth spreading over Graves’ hand, he let out something that was half a sob and half a scream.

And _lord_ was it enticing.

Graves yanked off Credence’s pajama bottoms quickly, not bothering to wipe the cum from his hand. A long, pale pair of legs were made bare to him, gorgeous and elegant.

Credence was panting heavily, looking stunned.

Graves grabbed him roughly and flipped him on his stomach, his hand grabbing the small of Credence’s neck.

“Percival?” Credence sounded startled by the sudden turn. The color was quickly training from his face. In any other situation, Graves would have noticed that Credence seemed to sober significantly then. The slur in his words had gone, and had been replaced by a fearful tremble.

Too bad Graves was no more sober, or he might have also realized he had the back of Credence’s neck in a sort of death grip.

But Graves wasn’t thinking about that.

In fact, he wasn’t thinking at all.

Graves was removing his own pants with his free hand, exposing his own hardened cock. It was still bigger than Credence’s own, and it was quite thirsty.

“Mr. Graves…?” Credence whined, his body squirming around with a bit more effort. It was likely he didn’t even realize what Graves had been about to do, but Credence was only aware that Graves seemed far away once more.

“Shhh….”Graves squeezed his neck even harder in what was meant to be an encouraging way. Credence winced, but quieted down a little. The boy trusted him, and Graves assured himself of that.

He trusted him, and _only_ him.

And it was _so_ undeniably endearing.

_He would reward Credence for his loyalty._

Graves waved his hand, magically (but clumsily) willing a bit of lubricant onto Credence’s pale and unblemished buttocks. It was unmarked territory; likely only seen by Graves and perhaps his mother (may the bitch rot in hell).

 _And he would keep it that way_ , god willing.

A wave of greed overcame him – a need to remind the world, Credence included, that Credence was _his_ boy. He went in without warning, not bothering to stretch out the hole with his fingers. He wanted to feel the tightness that a completely unpenetrated ass had to offer, never having fucked a virgin before.

_It was euphoria._

Credence was literally shrieking, but Graves was too lost in his own drunken bliss to hear him. The warmth was incredible on its own -- the pull of the skin of his dick against the walls of Credence’s tight asshole was another thing entirely.

Graves let out a noise that didn’t sound entirely human.

He was truly heaving now, as he thrust into Credence for the first few times.

Graves literally had spots in his vison, his head spinning.

He couldn’t see that the scant amount of lubricant he had provided Credence had now become tainted red with blood, and only felt the gushing wetness that was flooding his pelvis, as he slapped it repeatedly against Credence’s bottom. He couldn’t hear that Credence was both screaming and sobbing from pain, and only heard his own carnal screams of pleasure. He couldn’t feel the black mist that literally started to smoke out of Credence’s white skin, even as it started to snake around the wrist of the hand that was holding Credence down.

No, the drunken Graves did not comprehend any of that, because as addicts do, he was lost in his fix.

And that night, while alcohol was a large factor – _that night_ , his fix was named Credence Barebone.

Percival Graves had found a whole new addiction.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean...to be fair, the last chapter was practically all fluff.


	7. CHAPTER VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is in the air.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER VII**

The next morning, the first thing that occurred to him upon waking was that he needed to use the bathroom quite urgently.

Credence startled awake at the fact that his pajama bottoms felt quite wet. Had he soiled himself?

He sat straight up and tried to jump out of bed, and it was only then that he felt a fresh wave of ache travel through his muscles. He also felt quite dizzy, and at the sudden movement, nausea consumed him. He could feel bile pushing its way up and he tried to swallow it down.

_What happened last night?_

Through the pain and sickness, and the pounding headache that was also beginning to rear its ugly head, he really could not recall much. He made a cake for Graves, he did remember that much. And… and he kissed him.

Credence wanted to throw up again, but Graves took that moment to walk in.

He normally knocked, but this time Graves just let himself in – and he walked in with food. Heaps of breakfast food was on a floating mini table, the sweet scents of cinnamon and honey filling the room. Credence, in the state of distress he was in, was happy to see Graves.

But he also felt a fresh wave of sickness come over him, an uneasiness that felt like butterflies in his belly.

Credence figured it was probably to do with the food.

Still, he hoarsely asked, “Percival…what happened yesterday?”

Graves was setting the table across Credence’s lap. The table continued to float as it had no legs to stand on. Graves was handing him a glass of orange juice. He paused, his eyes not meeting Credence’s. Credence was too unwell to notice the expression of discomfort, or the fact that he looked slightly battered.

“Well…” Graves began as Credence took a sip of the juice, “You got very, very drunk. Often when people drink too much, which unfortunately _you did_ , they feel very sick and achy the morning after. This is what we call a hang over.”

“Oh.” Was all Credence said in response. He didn’t, or more like couldn’t, think too much into it. “I feel awful.”

Graves tittered, “I know, my boy. It was rather silly of you to grab the drink out of my hand like that. You really must promise me you won’t do anything that stupid again.”

“Yes, Percival.” Credence croaked out. He lifted a fork but soon gave it up, letting himself collapse back onto the bed. His head was spinning.

Graves handed him a small, dark vial then. “Here. Drink it.” He said. The vial’s glass was tinted so dark, he could not see its contents. It was open, and an odd smell came from its tiny mouth.

“What is it?” Credence asked, wary of drinking any more strange things, even if it was under Graves’ supervision.

“Medicine. It’ll help you sleep until you feel better.”

Extremely welcoming of the idea of something that could help to put him out of his misery, he grabbed the vial and tilted it into his mouth. The contents were a tiny amount, barely more than a couple of drops. The texture was thick, and Credence wondered if it was some kind of potion that Graves simply had called medicine.

Whatever it was, it worked.

Credence began to feel profoundly drowsy just a few seconds after swallowing.

Through the haze, he felt Graves place a hand on his forehead gently, and _lovingly_.

“Good boy.” he heard Graves say, “I’ll be here when you wake up. Just rest now, Credence.”

Credence drifted off into slumber just as Graves began to stroke the hand through his hair. The last thing he heard was a soft whisper, soft enough so that Graves could have easily been saying it more to himself than to Credence – but he still heard it.

He whispered that he loved him.

Credence slept and did not wake again for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

He felt better for the days that followed.

Actually, he felt _amazing_.

Credence still was not sure about what happened that Valentines evening. He could faintly remember grabbing the glass like Graves had said, but what on earth would compel him to do such a thing, Graves did not seem to be able to answer. And everything else in his own memory was fuzzy. Again, he was able to remember as far as the cake and the awkward kiss went.

Which is why he still didn’t think it was all _that_ weird when Graves finally began to treat him more like a lover than a child from that point on.

Credence just kind of figured that whatever he _did_ do that night, it seemed to really win Graves over. He barely even had the time to worry about the fact that he was practically living in sin.

If he thought Graves had been spoiling him before, it was nothing compared to the devotion he started to show.

He took more days off work, and took Credence out on many more outings. It was nearly sensory overload.

He went out to the zoo for the very first time. And while the no-maj creatures were nothing like Newt’s creatures, they were still charming in their own way. Graves also took him to something called a circus, which was wildly entertaining (although he found the clowns rather creepy). They went to go look at some fine art, and Graves took him to see all his favorite paintings.

Honestly, it seemed like Graves was almost _trying_ to blindside Credence with all these new experiences.

But while the art, the animals, and the shows were all so gorgeous and awe inspiring, what Credence valued most was the time he got to spend with Graves.

 It wasn’t the amount Graves was spending – as Graves was no stranger to buying him expensive things. It was the fact that before, Graves had always left these expensive gifts for Credence to find when he went off to work.

But now, now Graves was actually taking time off work to just be with him.

And it didn’t matter what they did, really.

It didn’t matter if they were at the most prestigious museum in New York or at the Eiffel tower in Paris, or even just at home cooking dinner together. Credence just wanted to be _with_ Graves.

His favorite moments came when Credence would just be reading a book in their living room, sprawled out on the couch while Graves would construct letters in his favorite armchair. They would be doing nothing, saying nothing – but they would be at home, together, and totally undisturbed. Credence became familiar with the beauty of just relaxing and being comfortable with someone you care for. As anyone could tell you, introverts especially, no matter how much you’ve experienced in life… well, there’s just nothing quite like it.

And all this time together just allowed Credence to finally give in to the idea he had resisted for so long – he was _absolutely_ , madly _in_ love with Percival Graves.

_God and society be damned._

They still had to keep it on the down low, of course.

“You cannot hold hands with me in public, Credence.” Percival had sighed one day while they were out for a stroll in central park.

Credence had flinched, retracting the hand that had begun to reach for Percival’s.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Credence sulked, beginning to worry his bottom lip.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Percival chided, “Don’t look like that. It’s not because I don’t want to be seen with you, Credence. It’s never that.”

Credence hummed halfheartedly, clearly not believing him, and Percival nearly rolled his eyes at having to spell it out.

“It’s a matter of safety, Credence.” Percival said softly, his expression sad, “I imagine _anyone_ would be proud to have someone as beautiful as you on their arm, but because we are inverts, and on top of that wizards – we simply cannot afford to attract too much attention to ourselves. Well I suppose I could, but I must always consider you. Your safety is always my top priority, you know that.”

His mother’s scowl flashed across his memory and he shuddered. Credence was well acquainted with people who had issues with both magic _and_ inverts. Percival seemed to almost read his thoughts, because he placed a hand on Credence’s back, rubbing small circles around it as they walked. Credence inhaled, instantly comforted by the contact.

“Of course,” Percival then mumbled, “You’re always free to touch me as much as you like when we get home.”

Credence grinned at that.

He tilted his head upwards, taking a moment to look at the green that seemed to surround them. The trees, the grass, the bushes – it was all such a lovely sight to compliment the beautiful weather. The air was crisp, a gentle breeze tickling at his face.

The moment was perfect.

Thankfully, his panic attacks also seemed to be nearly gone at that point. Percival too, seemed to be locking his door less. Sure, Credence still had the occasional nightmare – but they were getting fewer and fewer.

Although, he must admit, the nightmares he did have had gotten a bit _stranger_.

They were a bit more… _sexual_ in nature.  

There would be nights where he would toss and turn, unable to escape visions of Percival pinning him down -- _hurting him._

_Stripping him naked._

_Touching him._

_Breaking him._

_Doing ungodly, unimaginable things to him._

But, considering that their relationship had become a bit more romantic in nature, Credence really didn’t think too much into it.

It was still cumbersome though, that he would sometimes wake from these dreams to find that his privates were swollen and hard, almost painfully so. He never knew quite what to do with that. He would feel this strange, primal urge to ask Percival to touch him there -- but he was still not quite at that point.

He cursed Grindlewald for tainting his relationship with Percival. His continued haunting of Credence was literally the only imperfection.

After all, if it had not been for Grindlewald, he wouldn’t have these accursed nightmares. If it hadn’t been for Grindlewald, he would not have these visions of a man wearing Percival’s face. It almost felt like an insult or a betrayal to Percival, that Credence continued to remember his imposter – that he continued to dream about him, even. And those dreams had become even more embarrassing, with moments of rough kissing and so much _touching_.

If only he could forget his memories with the pretender, the liar, the fake.

If only he could forget his time with the man they called Grindlewald.

_If only…_

“Queenie.”

Credence spoke suddenly. He was at the Goldstein’s. Tina was at work, Newt was off in a corner, writing, and Credence and Queenie were sitting at the kitchen table, chewing on grilled cheese sandwiches. They were having a break from their magic lesson – today she was teaching Credence _Aguamenti_ for water. Well, trying to, at least. He was having a bit of trouble with this one, but as usual there was no real pressure.

“Yes?” Queenie replied through chews.

“Is there a spell to make you forget someone… or, or something?” Credence asked her.

Queenie just stared for a second. Credence did not see it, but in his corner, Newt suddenly stopped writing. He did not look over though -- his eyes were fixated on whatever he was doing.

Credence wondered when and why it got so quiet before Queenie said, “Why on earth would you want to know that, dear?”

Percival – no, Grindlewald came to mind, but Credence did not answer that directly. He might have dwelled on it a second too long though, because Queenie’s perfectly tweezed eyebrows lifted quite a bit.

“I was just wondering.” Credence said somewhat shortly and firmly. He tried to give off the air that he didn’t want to be the one interrogated here.

If Queenie tried to read him any further, she did not let it show. She put her sandwich down on its plate and explained, “Well… there is. It’s called Obliviate. But it’s hardly considered a household charm like the ones I’ve been teaching you, honey.”

“Is it really advanced?” Credence asked her, having the impression that this was the reason for her hesitation.

“Well no,” Queenie shook her head, “It’s just not something you should use willy nilly.”

“Why not?”

Queenie smiled at him, in the soft and gentle way that her smiles always seemed to carry.

“Because dear,” she told him, “You wouldn’t want to forget anything very important…now would you?”

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have done a poor job at implying how dark this fic intended to be in the summary or the tags. When I first posted the stories, a couple of the reviews were like "cant wait to see Graves and Credence healing together", and I was healing together? Where on earth did you get that impression? I realize though that is what the usual Gradence fic formula is made from. 
> 
> To be honest, I don't really write fluff. All my fanfiction before, (and I used to write for ff.net and ficwad and all of those) were literally all either horror stories or at the very least thrillers. Dark fanfiction is literally my specialty. 
> 
> Sorry about that. I guess it's been a while. Need to work on those summary skills, I suppose. :)


	8. CHAPTER VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon is over.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER VIII**

 

Unfortunately, the domestic bliss did not last forever.

In fact, it ended with a rather unsettling encounter.

At first, he just noticed Percival starting to work much longer hours. The days off stopped all together. It got to a point where he was nearly never home, even more so than he had been before. And when Credence would ask him why, he would answer that it was confidential and not his concern.

_Run off and play, little one._

_The grownups are busy now._

Credence resented this, but did his best to keep that to himself.

On the other hand, after all, Percival also significantly more stressed.

There were suddenly many more locked doors.

Credence could smell whiffs of whiskey at random moments, moments where he was quite sure there was no whiskey present. It both disturbed and concerned him.

He tried to pre occupy himself by learning more recipes, but he soon found that cooking was not much fun when you had no one to share the finish product with. At the very least, since he had moved in with Percival, he could rely on Percival coming home at _some_ point --- no matter how late the hour may have been. But in the days to come, there were a few evenings where Percival did not seem to come home at all. Credence would only hear him come in well after midnight, as he would lie in his own bed, pretending to be asleep.

There was one night where he no longer felt like pretending.

After a while of restless fidgeting in his room that seemed to become routine, Credence made a decision and made his way to Percival’s room.

He decided he would wait for him and demand some answers.

The room was spotless when he let himself in.

No bottles to be found – really nothing was left out other than the standard furniture. The black sheets were neatly made. It looked more like a fancy hotel room than a personal, lived in bedroom. Credence supposed he had never gotten a good look at Percival’s bedroom when it was in its unlocked, presentable state.

It’s not like Credence himself was a slob. He kept his own bedroom in an acceptable state of cleanliness – not messy, but not like there was much effort put into keeping it that nice either. Still, since Credence didn’t own as many things as Percival did (which shouldn’t be shocking as it was technically Percivals house), he supposed that was typical.

Credence crawled onto the bed, feeling the texture of the sheets.

They felt strange and wonderful.

All other thoughts were abandoned for a moment as he sat there, caressing Percival’s soft bed sheets. He lifted them to his nose and inhaled.

They smelled like him.

They smelled like his musky scent, heavy with a bit too much cologne.

The butterflies in his stomach fluttered around as the Percival’s scent filled his nostrils, and wafted into his lungs like much needed oxygen.

When was the last time Percival embraced him or held him close? He contemplated on the question with a deep and sad sense of longing.

Was it _he_ who did something wrong?

What if Percival didn’t have a lot of work?

_What if he just didn’t like Credence anymore?_

What if he had grown tired of him, and was using work as an excuse to get away from him?

The more he thought about it, the more his heart sank. The more he explored this option, the more and more he was beginning to see it as an epiphany rather than a possibility. He was not sure why it never dawned on him before, he thought, the tears already welling up in his eyes.

_It’s so obvious, yes._

_He hates me._

_He hates me and just doesn’t want to tell me._

A thin layer of black mist had begun to appear over the bed sheets. It blended in with the dark coloring, however, so Credence did not notice it himself. Maybe he would have had he been alone for another few moments, but the door burst open before he got that chance.

It was Percival.

“Credence.”

Percival looked extremely fatigued, with bags under his eyes that Credence had never noticed there before. Credence wondered what time it was, and how long he had been here. If he was a good estimator of time, which he wasn’t, he would probably guess it might be somewhere around 2 A.M.

Credence had pulled his stunt looking for answers. But now, he thought maybe he knew what those answers were. So now that Graves was here, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He paused for a second, a few rough drafts passing through his consideration before he decided to cut straight to the point.

His voice high and cracking, Credence asked him, “Do you not want me around anymore?”

Percival looked taken aback. Whether it was due to the question or Credence’s general presence though, he was not sure. Then there was an expression of annoyance – as though he was trying to suppress an eye roll. He sighed, running a hand through his sleeked hair.

 His body language screamed that he was in no mood to deal with this.

Whatever thoughts may have gone through Percival’s head, the first time he spoke, he threw a question back at Credence.

“Why are you still awake?”

“Answer me!” Credence snapped at him, unable to restrain himself and he saw Percival flinch.

The surprise wore off though, and Percival raised an eyebrow in response.

He began to walk over to the bed, and over to Credence.

A sinister feeling crept down his spine, and Credence willed himself not to shudder.

Percival did not sit on the mattress, but instead knelt down, so that they were at eye level. He still did not look very amused. His expression was hard, as it often was after a stressful work day. His eyebrows furrowed, his lips pursed – Percival reached a hand up to Credence’s jaw, and stoked down to his chin. His fingers rested at the bottom of it, turning his head so that their gazes met directly.

Credence could not read his eyes.

The sense of déjà vu that had already began to sink in was washed away, as the lack of clear emotion was a major difference between this night and the last evening he had been here.

But he could not tell if this new experience was better – or worse.

He inhaled sharply, wondering if he might get _more_ than a slap for snapping at Percival. Perhaps he found back talk a more severe crime than intrusion.

But instead, Percival just pulled him into an embrace.

A _tight_ embrace.

Credence collapsed into him instinctively, his hands gripping the sides of Percival’s coat.

“My boy.” Percival said, finally breaking the silence. “Whatever would make you think that?”

Credence allowed his tears to flow freely then, at least trying to not sob enough to the point where he couldn’t form words. He tried to explain himself, but it came out a choked up mess anyway.

“I – I don’t know!” He cried into Percival, “You keep staying at work all the time now, and you won’t tell me what’s going on! I just – I just didn’t know if maybe you were tired of me. I don’t – I don’t want to drive you away! I love you and I miss you and I –“Credence stopped trying to talk and allowed himself to give in to crying as hard as the sadness in his chest wanted him to.

Percival pulled away from the embrace just to climb onto the bed with Credence, and Credence scooted aside to make some room for the man. When he was able to able to situate himself, he put an arm back around Credence, his fingers tugging at the collar of his pajama top.

“Credence, listen to me.”

Credence tried to quiet his sobs on command, but could only slow them into a small, but steady stream of hiccups. Percival waited. His tone had been tired and soft, but gentle at the same time. It somehow just made Credence feel worse, because now he felt guilty on top of everything.

“I love you as well.” He continued, “That has not changed, and it never will. I am very sorry for being gone so long, my boy. It has been hard for me too. Please believe that during these long work hours, I would give _anything_ to just tell everyone to fuck off and come home to you. And I’m so, _so_ sorry I made you feel this way, my love.”

Percival planted a kiss to his forehead, and then went on to say, “I’m afraid there’s just not much I can do about it right now. My hands are tied. But I promise you, _on my life_ , as soon as Seraphina gets off my ass…” (Credence actually chuckled a little at that) “… we’ll take a nice long vacation together, just you and me – at least for a week. Does that sound swell to you, Credence?”

Swell?

That sounded like heaven.

The most days in a row that Credence ever got with Graves to himself were three. A week – well, he could not even _imagine_ the bliss of a whole week. He tried not to sound _too_ happy about it, as he squeaked out a tiny “…Yes.” in response.

His face was still buried in Percival’s chest, which seemed to be its favorite resting spot. So he did not see Percival’s face, but he could almost feel his smile then. The hand on his shoulder rubbed soothing circles with a firm, steadying hand.

_Typical Percival._

No matter how busy he seemed, he still found time to be Credence’s anchor.

But Percival took things a step further.

He brought his fingers so that they cupped Credence’s jaw, and he tilted his head up so that they were looking at each other then. He leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on Credence’s lips.

Since Valentine’s evening, Percival and Credence _had_ shared the occasional peck or two.

But this was different.

This kiss was prolonged, and passionate. It seemed to be Percival’s way of trying to say, “I _do_ still love you, and I’ll prove it…somehow.”

And Credence, Credence was more than eager to believe him.

When they parted lips, Percival smiled at him, and Credence smiled back. Percival perched another quick peck on Credence’s forehead before saying, “Oh my, its nearly four in the morning.”

Reality rearing its ugly head again, Credence was quick to say, “Oh no! I’m so sorry, you have work in the morning. I’ll get out –“

“Don’t be silly, my boy.” Percival laughed, “That’s not what I meant. Why don’t you stay here for the rest of the night?”

Credence flushed.

“Here? In your room, you mean?”

“Of course.”

“Where would I sleep?”

Percival arched an eyebrow at him as though he were wondering if there may be something wrong with the boy -- as though Credence had asked what color the sky was.

“On the bed, I presume?” Percival responded.

“But where would you sleep?”

Credence was genuinely confused. He felt bad enough for invading Percival’s space, and the last thing he expected was to be invited to take the whole bed. Although, he wouldn’t complain at the idea of spending more time with these sheets.

“Um, also on the bed, if you’ll allow me…?” Percival then said, and suddenly Credence understood.

_Oh._

He had never shared a bed with another person, except for Modesty when she was very, very small.

It did seem rather intimate, more intimate than he and Percival had yet to be. But he wasn’t about to reject the offer when he had been so caught up in his lack of contact with Percival just moments earlier.

Credence nodded.

“Very good,” Percival looked genuinely happy. He waved a hand, and his work clothes seemed to melt away, a white set of pajamas instantly replacing them. He collapsed into the pillow next to Credence, who was still sitting upright, and sighed. He appeared to be letting his body finally relax, after all the tension that had constrained him that day.

It only occurred to Credence then that he never really got an explanation as to why Percival had been gone so much.

But Credence did not want to ruin the moment by talking more about work.

He let himself fall next to Graves, unsure if he should turn on the side that would have his back to Percival. He always slept on his side, but Percival was quite close in proximity. But of course, Percival let an arm snake around Credence again and pulled him close to himself.

“Thank you, Percival.” Credence muttered as he let himself drift into slumber, his eyes tired from crying.

In his last remaining seconds of consciousness, he could hear Percival say, “You have nothing to thank me for, my love-- nothing at all.”

When Credence woke just a few hours later, Percival was gone. But the blankets were pulled over him, tight and warm, like Percival’s arms.

On Percival’s pillow, he found a note in his signature elegant handwriting:

_Stay warm, Credence. Remember --- you and me, vacation, soon._

_J_ _ust hang in there. I love you, my boy. – P.G._

 

* * *

 

 

Things may not have been so painfully boring if everyone else didn’t suddenly seem busy as well.

But Tina seemed to be never home either, which leant evidence to the likelihood Percival had been honest about his long working hours, although Credence hadn’t thought of that at the time. And since Tina was having to do so much at work, Queenie had less time for their lessons, as she often found herself having to cover more of Tina’s errands.

 And Tina, evidently, was a busier woman than Credence had ever given her credit for.

“I’m sorry, honey.” Queenie pouted as she scurried around their apartment. Credence had come over in hopes to start work on _Scrougify_ , a cleaning charm Percival had once mentioned. “It’s our nephew’s 6th birthday today and I have to work on some food for everyone for a party tonight.”

“Well, can’t I help?” Credence asked her, honestly excited at the idea of that much cooking.

“Er…” Queenie smiled at him apologetically between her wand waving. She was likely remembering the time they had attempted to bake cookies together, and his batch came out looking rather oddly shaped “Normally I would love for you to help dear, but it really is hard trying to mix cooking magically and the no-maj way, especially when you’re in a hurry.”

But Credence did not get a chance to respond to that, or express disappointment, as he heard a voice exclaim, “Credence!” from behind him. He turned around. Newt was standing by the door, his trademark blue trench coat looking matted with fur.

“Newt.” Credence smiled at him. He had certainly felt like the Brit had not spoken to him in some time, but he had assumed he was likely busy as well.

“If you’re free, Credence, would you be interested in having lunch right now?” Newt asked suddenly, “Are you hungry?”

Credence _was_ hungry, but he was more surprised by the offer.

“Just by ourselves?” Credence asked upfront, trying not to sound hesitant. He still didn’t want to be rude.

“Well, yes.” Newt said, looking more at Queenie than he was at Credence, “I actually, _really_ need to have a word with you.”

“Oh. Ok.” Credence nodded, interest piqued. “Yeah, I’m pretty hungry.”

Newt smiled, opening the door. “Great then, I’ll meet you outside.”

They went to a café not more than a block from the Goldstein’s apartment.

The weather was lovely, and Credence tried to talk about this in order to make small talk, but Newt seemed distracted. Credence wanted to have a seat outdoors like he and Percival always did, but Newt seemed to prefer that they be seated inside the café. Newt ordered tea, and Credence ordered a latte, unsure if he should order food since neither had discussed who was going to foot the bill.

It was rather awkward.

But Credence got the air that Newt was less uncomfortable because of Credence, and more because he had something on his mind. So he waited for Newt to start to lead the conversation.

Once the waitress brought them their orders, he finally asked, “How are you getting along, Credence?”

Credence thought about his little discussion with Graves just the other night, but knew better than to talk about it.

“Fine, I suppose.”

“The obscurus – has it…?” Newt asked, stirring a small spoon through his tea excessively.

Percival’s words went through his mind.

_I’m just worried he’s more concerned with the obscurus than, well –you, as a person._

Credence frowned a little, “No, I can’t say it has.”

“Good, good.” Newt nodded. He looked away again.

There was silence for another few moments.

Credence sipped his latte, wondering if Newt was going to ask him to come to Europe again. Of course, he would turn him down.

After all, he and Percival had a vacation scheduled soon.

“How has Mr. Graves been treating you?” Newt asked him then, and Credence was taken aback by the question. Newt had never asked anything that personal before.

“Good.” Credence hesitated, unsure as to how much he should divulge. On one hand, Newt was a friend --a good friend. But on the other hand, Percival was a very private person, and he was not sure how much he could reveal that Percival would approve of. And then there was the whole fact that they were inverts, and frankly he had no idea of anyone knew about it for either of them.

He decided on something neutral.

“He’s’ been alright.” Credence responded, just hoping Newt would not ask him to elaborate much more. “He’s just… been busy a lot. With work. Like Tina has, I think.”

Silence again.

Newt seemed to inhale sharply then, and Credence prepared himself for that potential proposal to come back with him. He was all too familiar with the expressions of someone who was finally about to say something they had to muster up the courage to say.

But what Newt said next was no proposal.

Instead, very slowly, he grimaced and said:

“Credence, love -- you _do_ know that Grindlewald broke out of prison, don’t you?”

Credence nearly spit out his drink.

**TBC.**

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahaha you thought Graves was going to do something, didn't you? 
> 
> Nah, that's for later. 
> 
> So look, I don't comment all that often but I feel the need to say a couple more things. I realize things seem a little confusing right now, and there might be some kind of obvious seeming plot holes, and it seems like I'm throwing a lot at you guys. 
> 
> I promise, promise, promise I'm going somewhere with this (a bit vaguely, but it is going somewhere). 
> 
> I mean I feel like I tried to imply some of it, but maybe some readers didn't quite get that -- so I should get an opportunity to kind of explain that in detail later. I'm honestly trying to keep everything in Credence's point of view for the sake of consistency, but Credence also happens to be probably the character with the least idea of what the hell is happening. So, there's that to kind of have to work around. 
> 
> The only thing that was left kind of vague that I can tell you right now is the potion that Credence drank the morning after Valentine's was just a couple of drops of Draught of Living Death for sleep. I'm telling you this because I don't really see any way that particular plot point would ever come up later. And I'm honestly not trying to leave a bunch of red herrings everywhere and let people think maybe it turns out to be a love potion or whatever. :)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all the feedback!


	9. CHAPTER IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Credence have a conversation.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER IX**

At first, he thought Newt might be playing some kind of sick joke.

But Newt was not the joking type.

And he looked dead serious – _grim_ , even.

He watched Credence with worried eyes, as the shock on Credence’s face likely answered his question for him.

 _No_ , _no he did not know._

A lot did make sense though. He could actually remember Percival telling him not to go anywhere that wasn’t the Goldstein’s apartment quite recently. Credence hadn’t thought anything of it more than Percival being his typical, protective (slightly overbearing) self.

Credence could not really bring himself to verbally reply to the news as he mulled it over, but Newt understood and nodded. “I thought I had heard Mr. Graves and Tina talk about whether or not to tell you. I just wasn’t sure if they ever actually said anything or not.”

Anger bubbled inside Credence at that information.

So they were purposefully keeping it from him.

But why was Newt telling him this?

It took Newt another few moments to answer that. He sat quietly for a bit longer, while Credence was allowed to get lost in his own train of thoughts. He seemed to be contemplating how to phrase his next statement again, and it made Credence incredibly nervous. He took a swig of his tea similar to the way Percival would take a swig of whiskey.

_Liquid courage._

Credence was ready to try and break the silence himself, when Newt finally said, “Credence, I have a professor at my old school in Europe -- Hogwarts. It’s a wizarding school, of course. He would _really_ like to meet you.”

“Mr. Dumbledore?” Credence recalled the conversation he and Percival had had about this.

Newt smiled, but looked unsurprised. “He told you.”

“A bit, yes.” Credence returned the grin sheepishly. He wasn’t about to get into the details of Percival’s opinion on Newt.

Newt inhaled sharply, “Yes, Professor Albus Dumbledore. He teaches Transfiguration – it’s the ability to turn objects into other objects – but that’s beside the point, really. He had a sister who was just like you -- she was an obscurus as well. Unfortunately, she’s passed away. Since I’ve told him about you though, he very much wants to meet you and see if we can come up with a way to help you --- not only with the obscurus, but to keep you safe. I did try to talk to Mr. Graves about this, but that was before he broke out of jail. Now, considering the circumstances, I really feel it would be more prudent than ever.”

Credence felt very awkward. Newt sounded sincere of course, but Credence wasn’t sure what to think. He was annoyed at Percival for keeping the information about Grindlewald from him, but he couldn’t be sure that Percival didn’t have some good reason for doing so. Likewise, he obviously knew Newt much less than he knew Percival, and Percival’s words about Newt kept resonating in his head.

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” was all that Credence managed to say in response, and it came out as a whisper. His eyes were fixated on his half-drunk latte.

 “Well – I don’t know Mr. Graves well, but I can assume that similar to Tina, he didn’t want to frighten or worry you.” Newt tried to smile at him again, but even he seemed uncertain.

“Is – is Percival going to fight him?” Credence asked then, “Is that why he’s been gone so long? Is he hunting him down?”

If Newt was annoyed at the lack of a direct answer to his offer, he did not let it show. He sighed, more sympathetically than irritably, and said, “It’s a possibility, yes –as it is with Tina. Everyone has been working very hard to catch him. I’d say Tina and Mr. Graves have been more than anyone else since they are a bit more _personally_ invested.”

Credence said nothing.

He was imagining Percival --- his Percival --- his temperamental, protective Percival strutting toward Grindlewald with a raised wand. He had never seen Grindlewald, so he could not really imagine that in as much detail as his mind might have liked – but it was enough to make him shudder.

He suddenly felt very, _very_ frightened.

If this was a possibility, then the last thing he wanted to do was be _away_ from Percival. In fact, all he wanted to do right now was to pull Percival away from work, ask him to quit his job, and hide away with him somewhere safe – somewhere where Gellert Grindlewald will never, ever be able to find either of them again.

“I’m really sorry, Newt.” Credence told him, “But Percival needs me here – I think.”

Newt, again, looked unsurprised.

“I know you’re worried about him.” Newt said, his tone gentle, “But so are we for you.”

“The obscurus hasn’t shown itself in a long time.” Credence assured him, “At the very least, I don’t really think it’s a big concern right now…”

Newt grimaced. He opened his mouth to respond to that, but then closed it again. He repeated the motion a couple more times before he said, “Well, Credence, the reasons to bring you to Hogwarts is not entirely selfless on our part.”

Credence raised an eyebrow at that, prompting Newt to go on. Newt paused to drink more tea before he continued.

“You were the last person to have any real contact with Grindlewald. And Professor Dumbledore believes you might have some valuable information that could be relevant to helping us catch him. He would really like to ask you some questions.”

Credence immediately shook his head.

“I don’t really know anything that could…”

“If I might be so blunt, Credence,” Newt said with a smile, “That’s up to Professor Dumbledore to decide. His methods are somewhat odd, but, ah, whats the saying – he works in mysterious ways.”

“I…”

Credence hesitated before falling silent again.

On one hand, he wasn’t willing to go to an entirely different continent on the vague promise of safety alone. On the other hand, if it could help catch Grindlewald, he was willing to consider the offer a bit more. And honestly, the possibility of visiting a wizarding school sounded absolutely fascinating.

But, as much as all that sounded appealing, his contemplation (as usual) only led back to Percival.

_What if something happened to Percival while he was away?_

_What if Grindlewald got caught after they left, and his incentive for doing this would become entirely pointless?_

_What would Percival eat for his dinners without him?_

_What if Percival drank himself to death because he missed him so sorely?_

Credence knows that the amount _he_ would be missing Percival, anyway, seemed like more of a mortal threat than ten obscurus or Grindlewalds combined.

“I… I can’t.” Credence said finally, willing himself not to wince at the clear look of disappointment on Newt’s face.

Silence for another few minutes.

Newt nodded, running a hand through his own hair.

“There is… another way we can do this.” he told him then.

“What do you mean… another way?” Credence tilted his head.

“Are you done with that?” Newt asked suddenly, motioning towards his latte. It was cold and forgotten. Credence nodded. “Alright then, follow me.”

Newt left a 20 dollar bill on the table for their tab. Credence was certain that what they had ordered should have cost _much_ less than 20 dollars, but he also realized that Newt probably still had little concept of either no-maj, or, for that matter, American currency. They left the café with Credence contemplating that the waitress would likely be delighted at what they will figure is just a very big tip.

They went back to the Goldstein’s.

Credence did not ask any more questions as he followed Newt onto the balcony --- Queenie appeared to be gone for the day. Newt laid down his trademark suitcase on the ground and opened it, beckoning Credence to follow. Familiar with the process by now, Credence walked down the stairway that led to Newt’s messy workshop.

When he got down to the floor, Newt was already digging through his plethora of weird objects. Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for and pulled out a small, empty glass vial.

“Sit.” Newt motioned towards a wooden stool in the right most corner.

Credence obeyed, but asked, “Erm, Newt…what are we doing here?”

“Well…” Newt began, removing his trench coat and draping it over an empty table, “This is a bit of a last resort, but Professor Dumbledore told instructed me to do this as a backup plan -- in case you did say no. Which honestly, we figured you might.”

“What?” Credence asked, getting a bit annoyed at Newt’s vague ramblings.

“Sorry, sorry.” Newt shook his head, probably hearing the impatient edge to Credence’s voice. “There is a magical object at Hogwarts. It’s called a pensieve. It can be used to review people’s memories.”

“Oh.” Credence tried to hide the panic that welled up inside him like bile.

_Memories…?_

_Would he see…?_

He apparently had not hid the panic very well, because as though reading his mind, Newt interjected, “No, dear, not _all_ your memories. Just the ones pertaining to Grindlewald – the ones we might need.”

“Oh.” Credence repeated, nodding, but feeling a bit more relieved.

Only a bit though.

He wasn’t proud of the way he had savored Grindlewald’s affection like a thirsty man, lost in a desert -- finding a body of water that later turned into a mirage. He hated the way he had leaned into every touch, hung on every word. He hated how gullible he had let himself be – how much he trusted him.

And those dreams --- _those blasted dreams_ \-- the ones that were so recently sexual and violent and passionate. They were so strange, but so vivid as well – more like a flashback than like a standard, random nightmare involving clowns or dragons.

They played more like a forgotten memory.

And when he would wake up, he would wake up hard and ashamed and --- _and_ …

_And what?_

_Pained?_

_Aroused?_

_Confused?_

_…Excited?_

_Would he be able to see the dreams as well?_

As was usual when he let himself get too lost in thought, Credence had at some point began to cry.

But when he started to become self-aware again, there were different arms around him this time – Newt’s arms.

They were somewhat less firm than Percival’s, and a bit longer.

But they were still enough to bring him back down to himself.

And the smell – the smell was different.

 _He smelled like oranges_ – kind of odd, but Credence would take it.

A renewed trust came crashing over Credence, and he managed to slow his bout of wheezing. Newt continued to embrace him, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “There we go, darling. You’re alright.”

While he still wasn’t about to leave the country with the man, Credence decided then that he trusted Newt enough to let him see whatever may have transpired between Grindlewald – especially if it might help them catch him.

 _Anything that might help keep Percival safe_ , Credence thought.  

“Ok. I’ll do it.” Credence said into the nape of Newt’s neck. “What do you need me to do?”

Newt pulled away, but left a hand on Credence’s shoulder as he asked, “Are you sure? I really won’t make you do anything you really don’t want to do, you know.”

Credence tried to smile in the most assuring way possible. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Newt nodded, and pulled out his wand.

“With people who grew up in the wizarding world and are familiar with the process, we can normally just have them recall the memories we want to extract. But unfortunately since I’m not sure you’d know where to begin, and since we don’t want to miss anything that could be relevant, I’m just going to try and get everything you might remember about him.” Newt explained, “I need you to just close your eyes and concentrate on the person – Grindlewald, of course.”

Credence still had some feelings of doubt, but reminded himself that he did trust Newt and did as he was told. He figured there was no going back on it now, after all.

He closed his eyes, and willed himself to think of Grindlewald in as much detail as he could without triggering another panic attack. As he focused, he could feel the tip of Newt’s wand tap the left side of his head lightly.

A bit of a cold feeling came over the spot that the wand touched. He felt Newt’s hand squeeze the shoulder it still rested on, comfortingly. The process didn’t hurt, but he figured Newt could probably feel the fear reverberating off of him. As Credence concentrated, he was still unsure as to whether or not Newt wanted him to think of memories of Grindlewald in particular -- or if Newt just wanted him to envision the person in detail.

It was a little hard, when all he really remembered of Grindlewald was when he shared the face of a man he was now in love with.

He was horrified to find that it was a little _hard_ not to let the separate memories of the two separate people intertwine.

But whatever Newt wanted, it was over relatively soon.

“All done.” He heard Newt pronounce.

Credence opened his eyes to see Newt standing there with the vial he had had before, but it was now filled with a bright and silvery substance. It reminded him of the smoke of his obscurus, but an off shade of white instead of black. There was a stopper now at the top of the vial that sealed the substance in. Similar to the obscurus smoke, it seemed to move around inside the vial – like it was alive.

“Is that…” Credence began to ask.

“These are your memories.” Newt said brightly, appearing to be pleased with himself. “Can’t view them until we get them to the pensieve of course, but thankfully I’ve already booked a boat for tomorrow afternoon.”

Credence nodded.

“So… was that it?”

“Yes Credence, that was all.” Newt put the vial away in the pocket of his discarded coat. He motioned for Credence to follow him back up the stairs.

As Credence jumped off the stool, Newt walked forward a few steps, but then turned around to say:

 “And don’t worry, darling -- whatever we see will be on a need to know basis. I won’t go blabbing about anything that isn’t _absolutely pertinent_ to catching Grindlewald. Not even to Tina.”

Credence looked visibly relieved.

“Thank you, Newt.”

 

* * *

 

 

Credence got home a bit late that day, but it didn’t really matter, because once again Percival was late too.

Credence had debated all afternoon whether or not he was going to tell Percival that he knew about Grindlewald and what he had been up to at work. He felt a small amount of smugness, knowing a secret that he specifically was not supposed to know. But he also did not want to get Newt in trouble for telling him – or himself for going out with him. While he wasn’t sure that he had ever been forbidden from going out with Newt, he wasn’t really sure how Percival might react knowing his distaste for the man.

Of course, he could always _lie_ about how he found out.

But even he knew himself enough to know that he was an _awful_ liar – which became all too apparent when Percival finally did come home, and his first question was, “My boy – why are you covered in fur?”

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I barely figured out that we can reply to comments on this website. That's new. Sorry about that! I just replied to the comments on the last chapter to not be weird. :)
> 
> Lots of action next chapter. Hopefully I can get it up (lol) tomorrow.


	10. CHAPTER X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival goes missing.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER X**

Percival did not persist, but was obviously suspicious.

Credence had explained that he had been down in Newt’s briefcase helping him feed the Thestrals, since he was one of the few who could actually see them. Under Percival’s scrutinizing gaze, Credence found it was difficult to be honest about something that had the potential to upset him further. However he could not stop himself from tripping over his words when Percival pointed out the problem with this explanation:

“And you accumulated that much fur by just being down there? Weren’t rolling around with any of those creatures, I’d hope.”

He had a point.

Credence did have quite a bit of fur on himself, and on top of that, it was a mixture of different kinds of fur. He had not been able to notice much of it with the eventful day he had had, especially since much of the fur was dark, and blended in with Credence’s black clothing. It did not make much sense to explain it by going into the briefcase alone, unless he could convince Percival that he was some kind of fur magnet.

Of course, once it had been pointed out, it hadn’t taken Credence long to realize where it all came from.

_It must have rubbed off on me when Newt was hugging me._

But he was hardly about to tell Percival that – he already noticed a slight scowl when Credence first mentioned Newt’s name.

Still, whatever complaints or reservations Percival may have thought of, he kept to himself.

He went to bed straight after dinner, locking the door behind him.

The next morning, when he went down to make his breakfast, Credence could almost smell the strong stench of old whiskey permeating through the house.

Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure if the stench had been entirely in his head. None the less, he spent most the rest of the day at Queenie’s that day.

About a week went by, and Credence did not find a chance to talk to Percival about Grindlewald, or come up with a good excuse as to how he learned the information. He knew the longer he waited, the worse it would look if he told the truth _now_. And it felt like ages since that conversation with Newt.

He had hoped upon hope that he might hear word that Grindlewald had been caught. Credence’s heart jumped at every owl that came by, wondering if Newt was contacting them. Although he probably should have figured that if Newt were to contact him, he would do it in a way that Percival might not find out. Still, Newt had left the country without saying anything about keeping Credence updated. He kicked himself for not asking before Newt took off. But not much else he could do about it except to wait…

And wait…

And wait….

It would, of course, have been much easier if Percival could have spent at least _some_ of the time with him. But Percival continued to be gone for extended periods of time.

And then -- there was one night, where he did not come home at all.

It was a first. Regardless of the hour, Percival would always come home at some point in the night --- whether it be midnight or 5 AM. Credence would know, because Credence would always listen for him – also regardless of the hour.

And on the evening in question, Credence found himself still awake at 10 AM… the morning after.

He was awake, and he was very, _very_ shaken.

_Where was he?_

_Did something happen?_

_Did Grindlewald….?_

He did his best not to panic, but it was rather difficult. Mostly because it was a weekday – and he found it hard to believe that Percival would ever miss coming home on a weeknight. After all, how else would he be able to get himself ready and refreshed for yet another work day, which was sometimes just a couple of hours later?

Credence got up around 11, and wondered if maybe he had simply fallen asleep at some point, did not remember, and failed to hear Percival come in.

He decided to check his room.

He would knock, of course, and simply ask Percival if he was there.

Credence proceeded to do this and --- nothing.

He knocked and called through the door, to no answer. He thought, or rather hoped that maybe Percival was just asleep and didn’t hear him – so he opened the door and peered and inside.

Also – nothing.

The room was empty and in its usual, cleanly state. Credence stared at the bed longingly, remember the wonderful feel of Percival’s bed sheets, and the night that they slept together in them.

He remembered the _safety_ he felt.

Credence was worried – _incredibly_ worried.

He forced himself to back to his room, got dressed, and made the decision to check the Goldstein’s. He prayed that Tina would be there, who would obviously know if something had happened at MACUSA.

He practically bolted for the apartment, using all his strength to go for a small jog. It wasn’t far from Percival’s brownstone. The walking distance was maybe about 10 minutes maximum – at running speed, Credence found, it was only about 7.

But when he got there, he was alarmed to find that no one appeared to be home either.

He went back to their brownstone, feeling exhausted and ill. It had been quite some time since he last pulled an all-nighter, and he had forgotten the tolls it could take on one’s energy level.

Along the way, he managed to purchase a newspaper with the hopes that it might tell him something relevant. He unfolded it when he was back in his own bed.

There were some headlines about some unexplained explosions, and a hefty obituary section – but nothing that pointed to Grindlewald or anything magical, for that matter. There was no mention of a Percival Graves, and Credence wasn't sure whether to be happy or relieved about that.

After going through the paper for the 10th time to be sure, he threw it on the floor, collapsed back onto the mattress, and finally just had a through cry.

Hours crept by, and Credence could not bring himself to do much except lie in bed and worry. His stomach rumbled in hunger, but was also ill with regrets. He regretted not talking to Percival about Grindlewald before this and now – now it might be too late. He tried to tell himself he was likely being melodramatic and over thinking things, but as time went on, it was harder and harder to convince his frantic mind.

At some point, his body gave out, and he drifted off.

In the haze of an uneasy sleep – Credence did finally, eventually hear the sound of the front door opening…at seven minutes to midnight.

Hungry, tired, and dizzy though he was, Credence made a beeline to the brownstone entrance upon hearing the sound. He saw Percival come in, and didn’t think twice.

He grabbed both sides of Percival’s face, and he kissed him as hard as he could muster.

He tasted like whiskey – _strongly_ like whiskey.

But honestly, Credence didn’t care.

Percival was _alive_ \-- and for that moment, that was all that mattered.

It was Credence who broke the kiss, but only when he felt he was running out of air. He pulled away, and looked at Percival through the tears that were already flooding his sight.

“Quit your job.”

It was the first thing Credence could think to say. It was another thing he had been thinking all day, maybe even for some time now – in the back of his mind. Of course, before this he would have thought that he could never make such a selfish request. But Credence, at that moment, just couldn’t give less of a damn (pardon the language).

“Credence, what –“

“I know.” Credence blurted out, “I know everything. I know that Grindlewald broke out. I know why you’re gone all the time now. I know…I know because Newt told me. But he said he and Dumbledore are working on how to catch him too, and I gave him my memories to help him out, and, _oh Percival_ – you don’t have to do this anymore! Just please, please, _please_ , leave your job now, and stay with me from now on. _I’m begging you_. Just let Newt or Tina or Dumbledore or whoever can take things from here, let them take care of it…”

Credence was openly crying as he rambled on, any sense of logic already thrown out the window.

“ _I love you_.” He continued, “I love you and I just – I never want to be without you again. _Oh Percival_ , I was _so_ worried!”

Credence resumed kissing Percival, hungrier for his affection rather than the food he had neglected to eat all day. His mouth opened and closed against Percival’s chapped lips, like a drowning man gasping for air.

He didn’t notice that Percival had stopped trying to reciprocate, and was shocked to feel Percival suddenly push him backwards.

“Percival…?”

“You gave him _what_?” Percival hissed.

It took a moment for Credence to comprehend what he was asking.

“Newt – he… he wanted… um…” he was trying to explain, but his words got caught in his throat again. After Percival had pushed him back, he had created enough distance between them from him to for the first time see how _unhappy_ Percival looked.

He thought back to what he had said, or what he remembered himself saying, and realized that he had not really specified _what_ memories Credence had given Newt. It was possible that Percival was thinking that he gave Newt _their_ memories too.

He wanted to clarify -- tried to clarify -- but suddenly Percival delivered a hard slap across his face. It sent him stumbling backwards.

“You idiot...” Percival growled, that carnal look in his eyes once more.

There was no mistaking the ferocious aura that vibrated from the man – he was _livid_.

Credence gaped up at him, and the situation that had escalated so quickly. He cradled his face where Percival had hit him with what appeared to be full force, too afraid, too surprised to ask _why_ – or say much of anything.

“ _Why were you with him_?” Percival stooped down before he could even have a chance to answer, and he yanked Credence up by a clump of his hair.

Credence yelped out in surprise at the sudden sensation on his scalp. Percival did not let go even when he was already standing, only seeming to pull even harder.

Credence winced, “I…I…”

_How could Percival expect him to answer when he was hurting him like this?_

But Percival did not wait for him to answer.

He threw Credence into a nearby table, Credence’s gut landing hard on its wooden edge.

He screamed.

“I’m going to fucking kill Scamander…” Percival muttered, probably more to himself than Credence.

“No… please…” Credence was able to whimper out, horrified at the realization that he got both himself and Newt in trouble for opening his big mouth.

He had no trouble comprehending that it was likely not an empty threat – even besides all this; Percival wasn’t one to say such things without meaning it. “Newt didn’t mean anything… he was only trying to help…”

“Shut up!” Percival yelled out, once again grabbing at Credence’s hair. Credence had still been leaning over the table Percival had thrown him onto, trying to steady himself. The pain wasn’t that profound, but Credence had already been physically weakened by the lack of food.

Credence moaned as Percival yanked his head backwards at first, then, reserving no bit of strength, proceeded to slam his head hard onto the table.

It didn’t occur to Credence that trying to speak up in Newt’s defense was probably not the best idea at the given moment. He remained confused as Percival continued to hold him down with his left arm, as though he were trying to see if he could possibly break the upper half of Credence’s body through the wood itself.

The other arm was pulling at Credence’s pajama pants -- it was pulling them down.

“No!” Credence found the voice to scream at last, an odd and revolting sense of déjà vu overtaking him, “Stop it! Percival! What –“

“Crucio!”

He heard Percival say the word distantly, but felt the blinding pain with all too much clarity.

He was _screaming._

More pain was suddenly coursing through his body than he had ever felt in his entire life. It was quite possibly more pain than all the pain he had ever felt combined. And, for Credence, that was saying something.

He was going to _die_ , he was sure of it.

_He was going to die by his lovers own hand._

Vaguely, the thought occurred to him that perhaps Grindlewald had stolen Percival’s identity again.

That perhaps, the real Percival was locked away again -- perhaps being tortured just the same. He wasn’t sure if the thought comforted him or horrified him.

…And then suddenly, the pain stopped.

It stopped abruptly -- and Credence almost felt whiplash at the change. He went from feeling like he was being stabbed with a 100 knives, to nothing at all.

For a second, he wondered if maybe he had finally passed on.

But his vision was still intact, although quite spot ridden and blurry.

The arm that Percival had been holding him down with was suddenly gone, air hitting his back. Credence did not have the strength or the courage to turn around and see why at first, he was still collapsed onto the table, shuddering and sobbing in the aftermath. He could smell something rancid and realized someone vomited at some point, although in the state he was in, he could not remember who.

And then, behind him, he heard a sob.

It was enough to give him the strength to move from his position -- to turn around and look at Percival again.

And Percival was crying.

He wasn’t just crying -- he was sobbing _hard_.

Percival, who had never let so much as a single tear fall, was now _openly sobbing_ , looking rather hysterical. He wasn’t looking at Credence -- but staring down at the hand he had been holding Credence down with, his eyes wide as though in shock.

 He actually looked genuinely surprised.

Between trying to catch his breath, Credence tried to vocalize enough to ask him what on earth was wrong with him.

_What on earth was any of this?_

But Percival spoke first, although he still couldn’t seem to get a hold of himself.

He said, “Imperius. Credence, I’m so sorry…”

He said it like an epiphany, a realization. He said the word breathlessly, like a dawning that had been a long time coming.

He said it like a gasp.

Credence was almost ready to ask him what he meant, when a loud noise like a crack boomed through the room. They both turned their heads to look at the source of the noise.

And suddenly, to their right, Newt was standing there, the signature blue trench coat billowing upon his arrival. And he looked _absolutely_ aghast.

Credence had never seen an angry Newt Scamander before.

Until then, he would have had a hard time imagining one -- always caught between either awkward and gentle, he had never seen the man show _any_ signs of aggression. Even then, back in the train station, Newt had taken a magical beating from Grindlewald (Percival?) without doing much more than making feeble attempts to defend himself.

But on this night, all these previous assumptions went out the window.

Credence watched in awe as Newt quickly strode toward them, eyes wild, and punched Percival squarely in the face.

Percival fell backwards, although it was hard to tell if Newt packed _that_ hard of a punch, or he was just as taken by surprise as Credence was.

Heaving and trembling himself, looking flushed and infuriated all at the same time, Newt looked at Credence then and said with unprecedented command in his voice:

“Get behind me. _Now_.”

**TBC.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikesssssss.
> 
> (Explanations will happen. I promise.)


	11. CHAPTER XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**CHAPTER XI**

 

It was a whirlwind of spells, lights, and exploding objects.

Credence tried to hide behind Newt as Newt and Percival exchanged blows, but it was proving difficult between dodging, ducking, and general confusion. From what Credence could see on Percival’s face, he was just as confused as Credence was.

It was another flash of déjà vu, like reliving the night on the train station.

Except this time, it was Newt who was more on the offensive.

While he didn’t quite possess the grace that Percival had when in combat, Newt looked determined. It was almost like Percival was some kind of insect he was trying to squash. His blows were frantic and unending, leaving Percival to frequently duck behind furniture that Newt would then upturn.

Finally, Percival raised his own wand and began to yell out the spell he had used earlier.

“Cru ---“

Credence was ready to push Newt out of the way in an attempt to help, but Newt was faster.

“Stupefy!”

Percival had been so focused on his own spell, he failed to dodge that one. It sent him flying backwards, where he finally slammed into a wall and crumpled down onto the floor behind it.

“Percival!” Credence ran toward him, his concern overtaking him out of reflex.

Percival was still awake when he got to him, but just barely. Credence, like usual, didn’t really know what else to do rather than cry over the man. He grabbed Percival’s hands in his own, clutching them closely to his chest.

He turned around to look at Newt after a moment, his expression contorted in rage.

“What did you do?!?” he spat at him. He couldn’t help it.

This was all so sudden.

Yes, he had been in a fight with Percival right before this. But just before _that_ Credence had experienced the euphoric relief of finding out that Percival was alive after nearly a whole day of worrying. Credence had let slip some upsetting news to Percival in his frantic rambling, and Percival had reacted --- badly. But they could have fixed that. They’ve fixed that before.

And then Newt came along.

Newt came along and just started --- _attacking_. And now, Credence was once again afraid for Percival’s life.

Newt -- who now was standing there looking at Credence with an odd mix of expressions, his wand still pointed at Percival.

“Credence. Move _aside_.” Newt spoke. It wasn’t a request.

“ _Why_?” Credence cried, not budging. “Why are you do—doing this?”

Newt sighed heavily then, but did not lower his wand.

“I’ll explain later – just move. _Now_.”

Credence almost winced. He had never heard Newt speak in such a clipped tone before, let alone towards him.

_What if…_

_What if Grindlewald had gotten to Newt too_?

What if this was not the real Newt Scamander who was standing there in front of them now, but Grindlewald himself, pulling the same trick he did before? It would explain _everything_ – the sudden aggression, the unexpected visit, coming here to attack Percival but leaving Credence unharmed.

After all, he had not even heard that Newt had come back from Europe. For all he knew, Newt was still at Hogwarts or wherever he spent his time, thousands of miles away.

If that was the case, then Credence realized it was all up to him now. Percival was clearly too hurt to fight for much longer, and all that stood in the way between possible Grindlwald and Percival… was him.

“No.” Credence answered him, his teeth gritted, a resolve burning through him like fire.

Newt (Grindlewald?) frowned. He moved his wand to Credence, and Credence prepared for the worst. He said “Sorry about this.” before he yelled, “Petrificus totalus!”

Whatever the spell was supposed to do, it rebounded against ripples of black smoke. No one in the room had seen the smoke spring forth, but suddenly it was everywhere – and Credence himself was not much more than a swirling dark mass once again.

“Oh.” Was all Newt (?) said.

Credence was still conscious, but he was losing grip of it quickly. He was nearly blinded in darkness, but surges of magic kept jolting through him, keeping him alive through sheer power. He knew he could finish Newt (?) this way if he needed to.

He could end him right now.

But of course he hesitated --- because _what if that is Newt after all?_

Perhaps sensing his inner conflict, Newt (?) began to address the smoke.

“Credence. You need to listen to me _very_ carefully. I saw your memories. “ Newt (?) spoke, a placating hand outstretched but his wand still raised, “Mr. Graves has been doing things to you -- _bad things_. You don’t remember because he’s obliviated you – a lot. Obliviation is a spell to make someone forget, remember?  I promised you I wouldn’t say anything to anyone that didn’t pertain to Grindlewald and I still won’t, that’s why I came here myself. But you have to let me take care of Mr. Graves -- and let me take you to safety.”

Halfway through Newt’s (?) explanation, Percival had also started rasping out something, but he couldn’t hear what, only hearing occasional whispers of his name.

“Credence…”

“ _Credence, please_.” Newt (?) talked over him --  but he sounded a bit like his normal self then. His tone was gentle and pleading, and sounded much more fitting to the Newt Scamander he knew. Credence didn’t have a physical heart at the moment, but somehow he could still feel it break like a phantom pain.

He didn’t know what to do.

He could barely comprehend what Newt was telling him.

_What bad things was he talking about?_

_Was this even Newt he was talking to?_

_What was Percival even trying to say?_

If he let himself come back into his physical form, Newt (?) might hurt them both -- if this is just some trick. But he could not hear what Percival was trying to say from here.

Obviously Newt (?) _could_ hear though, because the next second he was yelling at Percival to be quiet.

Percival, appearing to find some strength, suddenly got off the ground from where he laid – and he made a dive for Newt (?). Newt (?) had his wand ready, the tip already glowing -- the words of a spell forming on his lips.

But Credence couldn’t hear, as much as he couldn’t see.

Suddenly he was fading and exploding -- all at the same time.

Sure, he had felt the obscurus erupt before – but never with the same magnitude as what he was experiencing now. He could feel violent vibrations surround him.

For a moment, Credence remembered something completely out of left field.

He remembered Arianna Dumbledore, and how she died when two loved ones were fighting, and she just couldn’t handle it.

Funny how he had pitied her then….

…Since it looks like he was about to go the same way.

Newt -- _wherever he was_ \-- was right about the obscurus all this time.

Just before fading out entirely, he heard a scream. He couldn’t tell whose. He also heard someone cry out his name. He couldn’t tell who that was either.

His last thought, before it all went to black:

_It’s just too bad we never got to go on that vacation._

* * *

 

 

Newt was indeed right about a great many things.

He was correct in that the obscurus was not dormant.

He was right to say that it _would_ kill someone.

But he was wrong about _who_ it was going to kill.

Percival Graves was dead.

Credence, although he remained unconscious for several days, was thankfully still alive.

When the obscurus had erupted, Newt had managed to extract it from him, and still save Credence in the nick of time. He had been working on the extraction process with Dumbledore as best he could, and while he had not mastered it, he was miraculously able to make it work when it was most needed. He was able to seal it off in a magically enforced jar, and had already sent it off to Dumbledore.

Percival Graves, he could not be ( _nor did he want to be_ ) of any help to.

 _Don’t look at him like that_ – obviously he would have saved Graves if he _could_ have. But by the time Credence had collapsed onto the ground, the black smoke sealed safely away, it was obvious that there was nothing to be done. Graves looked just as Mary Lou Barebone and her daughters had – just as that young politician had as well.

Cold, pale – and dead.

_Oh well._

And that just left the aftermath of the whole thing to clean up.

Unfortunately for Newt, he had to be the one to clean it up.

“You just found them like this?”

Tina asked him for the hundredth time.

“Yes.” Newt answered her, his back turned. They were in Graves’ apartment, packing away anything that may have been Credence’s. Credence was still out cold, but was back at the Goldstein’s, under the care of a doting Queenie.

He hadn’t told Tina that he had been there. He didn’t intend to. He couldn’t think of a good reason why he would have gotten into a fight with Graves, but he was still determined to keep his promise to Credence that he would keep what he had learned to himself.

He wasn’t sure how smart lying to an Auror about the murder of a top official like that was, but he was still willing to take his chances.

After all, he was pretty sure Queenie had seen some parts of the real story – but, bless her heart, she had kept that to herself. She would only look at Newt with a frown on her lips, and her eyes with a knowing look – and then scurry off to check on Credence. Newt would have to remember that he owed the woman something or other.

“Newt!” Tina suddenly snapped at him from the kitchen.

“What?” Newt walked to her, snapped out of his thoughts.

“I told you to keep that niffler in its cage!” She scolded, her head hidden in a kitchen cupboard. She appeared to be looking for something.

“The niffler _is_ in its cage, Tina.” Newt said indigently.

“Then why do I --- “ Tina stopped midsentence as she pulled out a flask that was stowed in the furthest right corner of the cupboard. It was silver and very expensive looking, like most of Graves’ belongings.

She sniffed the flask, and then opened it.

“Tina?” Newt inquired, confused.

“I smell… I smell the niffler.” She said, her voice distant and lost in thought. “But more than that – it smells like leather and… and oranges.” She was sniffing inside the flask now. She pulled out a glass and poured it out.

The contents were a golden amber.

“Whiskey? The whiskey smells like niffler to you now, Tina? Seems like you’ve been hanging around the briefcase too long.” Newt smirked, but Tina was still staring down at the liquid. Her face suddenly went a heavy shade of pink.

“It’s love potion.”

Newt gave her a look of bewilderment, “Love potion? Why would there be –“

“It is whiskey, yes, but it’s spiked with love potion.” Tina explained, but she was still staring down at the glass. Newt could practically see the wheels spinning in her head as she fit the pieces of her puzzle together, as she often did at work.

“Let me check something.” Tina declared, as she went out of the kitchen and down the hallway to Graves’ room. Newt followed her.

When they got there, Newt shivered at the room in which he had previously only seen through Credence’s god awful memories. But Tina seemed to know where to look. She dove under the bed and pulled out what appeared to be a metal vat on its side. She rolled it out, and opened the latch that kept the top sealed. She opened it.

Tina stuck her head in and sniffed heartily and rapidly, like a dog investigating a new toy. In any other situation, Newt might have found the sight comical.

“His whole stash is spiked with the stuff.” Tina said finally, her head turning to Newt, who was still leaning by the doorway.

“Stash?” Newt blurted incredulously, “Why would he need a stash? Can’t he buy his own liquor? Surely, with the amount of money the man has – err, had –“

“Alcohol is illegal in America, Newt.” Tina said almost bitterly, “As of January 1920, no one in America _can_ buy alcohol anywhere. Its not illegal to drink, just illegal to sell and purchase so a lot of people have a stash stowed away from wherever they can get it.”

“Do _you_ have a stash?” Newt asked, crossing his arms.

Tina raised an eyebrow at him, but did not bother answering the question. Instead, she seemed to dive back into her previous state of concentration, “Why would Mr. Graves have love potion in his whiskey?”

“Maybe someone put it in there.” Newt shrugged, not particularly interested in the reason a rapist did much of anything.

But his own comment gave him pause.

…could _that_ have been an influence?

_…how long had his whiskey been spiked for?_

“What, you mean like Credence?” Tina laughed at the idea, “I doubt Mr. Graves would have ever even let him in his bedroom.”

Newt had to fight a wince at her words.

“Well _you_ seemed to know where this stash is.” Newt pointed out.

Tina turned her attention back to the vat then, closing the lid rather slowly, “I _have_ been here for a drink once, a long time ago. He didn’t hide it from me…. that’s all.”

“Well who else has been here, then?” Newt asked.

Neither of them said it, but they both realized at the same time. Their eyes met, both reflecting the same epiphany.

_Grindlewald._

“But why would –“ Tina was the first to start, but Newt shook his head.

“Why does Grindlewald do anything? We can’t know until we catch him.” Newt sighed.

Tina nodded.

When she looked at Newt again, her eyes seemed misty. “We’ll have MACUSA examine the vat then. I guess… that’s it.”

Newt bit his lip and said nothing, but put a comforting arm around her as they went to gather the few things they had packed for Credence.

He knew Tina was sadder for her mentors death than she had been letting on. She always tried to act tough -- but he saw the sadness in her eyes when they had broken the news.

Newt tried to tell himself it was all for the better – that Percival Graves had what was coming to him. That he _tried_ to warn him.

But now with this new piece in the equation that hadn’t been there before – _how much of that was actually true?_

_Would Percival Graves, uninfluenced by love potion, have let Newt take Credence to work on the obscurus?_

_Would Percival Graves, uninfluenced by love potion, have touched Credence in all the inappropriate ways that he did?_

_Would Percival Graves, uninfluenced by love potion, have obliviated Credence’s memories in order to keep the relationship going?_

Would he have ever touched the boy _at all_?

On the other hand, the man _was_ a drunk – it was something Tina had mentioned was a long time habit, long before Grindlewald came along.  It was probably why it would have been something easy for Grindlewald to slip a potion into, if it was something Graves always had on hand just by character. Although who Grindlwald had intended to give it to, or already did give it to, god knows. 

_So how much of Percival Graves had been whiskey, and how much of him had been Amortentia?_

_There was no use thinking about it now_ , Newt tried to tell himself as they reentered the Goldstein’s apartment. _It’s not like I’m actually the one who killed him, anyway._

He tried to shake the nagging voice that reminded him:

_But it might not have happened had you not shown up -- jumping to conclusions._

Newt didn’t have much more time to beat himself up though, because Queenie was waiting for them outside Credence’s door. She looked troubled.

“He’s awake.” She squeaked, a small tremble in her voice.

**TBC.**


	12. EPILOUGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All was well.

**MOMENTO MORI**

**EPILOUGE**

 

It was difficult -- breaking the news that Percival had died. He was the first thing Credence had asked for upon waking, and the grim expressions of those around him told him all he needed to know. They had to sedate him several times before they actually could have a conversation with him.

"How?" he had finally asked, when he could gain composure.

"It was me." Newt piped up, and everyone's heads turned to him in surprise. "It was an accident, Credence, I'm _so_ sorry -- he was choking me. And I had to... out of self-defense."

Tina looked confused, and seemed to be ready to express said confusion before Queenie gave her a sideways glance that seemed to shut her up. Queenie turned back to Newt, an approving smile on her lips.

"I hope you'll forgive me, when you're ready of course..." Newt muttered, looking down on the floor. He didn't wait for Credence to respond, but just left the room, leaving Credence to mull this information over.

Which he did.

In time.

It took somewhere around a month. Specifically, the chance arose when Credence was told he could no longer stay with the Goldstein sisters.

"I'm really sorry." Tina had pouted as she explained, "Men aren't allowed here -- you know that. The landlord is getting really suspicious, and I just can't anymore. Or we’ll all end up homeless."

Credence nodded, saying nothing in return. He knew she was telling the truth -- it was the reason that he hadn't been able to stay with the Goldsteins in the first place. But where else did he really have to go?

"You know, Newt is more than ready to take you in." Tina reminded him.

"I am an adult, you know." Credence mumbled, "I could find a job and ---"

Tina raised an eyebrow at him. Although he wasn't incorrect, they both knew that he was ready to do no such thing. If anything could be said about his time with Percival, it was that the man hadn't done much to prepare him for adult life.

"Could you please? Just do it for me?" Tina gave what appeared to be her best puppy dog eyed look. Credence bit back a smile.

"For you?" Credence asked.

Tina had been bringing it up fairly often, and he hadn't really been sure why she seemed so insistent.

Tina rolled her eyes, "He's been so worried. I know he hasn't said much to you because he wants to give you your space, but -- he asks about you. A lot. Okay, try a _really_ annoying amount."

Credence debated the idea. He wasn't sure how he would feel accepting the offer of living with yet _another_ strange man, (this time on another country) so soon.

On the other hand, Newt had not been unkind. He had explained why he had attacked Percival that night -- how Newt had seen Percival hitting him and _sometimes_ kissing him. He had felt it was highly inappropriate and lost his temper. Although -- it had seemed like an overreaction, still. When Credence had pressed Newt about whether or not that was really all it was, Newt had clammed up suddenly.

If there was more, Newt had made it clear that he was not ready to talk about it.

But back to the matter at hand, there was also the largest benefit to this --- he would stop burdening the Goldstein’s, who had both done so much for him.

The idea that he was adding unnecessary stress in their already busy lives was too much guilt for him to bear.

How could he say no?

"Okay. I'll do it -- for you." Credence had nodded at last, trying to smile.

Tina grinned widely and pulled him into a tight hug.

An owl was sent out that very evening.

* * *

 

**TWO YEARS LATER**

It was Valentine’s Day.

Credence Barebone, assistant to Professor Horace Slughorn was helping set up for another potions class with the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Obviously, Credence had been much too old to start an education at Hogwarts, but Headmaster Dippet found it possible to open up an (unpaid) assistant position as a favor to Professor Dumbledore. And as it happens, Credence -- with all his talents in cooking -- had found he had a particular interest in potions.

Professor Slughorn had been lackluster about the idea, but after rumor spread around that Credence was a former obsucurus, his interest (perhaps not coincidently) seemed to pique significantly.

"Be careful with those rose thorns, Mr. Barebone."

"Of course, Professor Slughorn."

The kids began piling in, taking seats and slamming down books. Gryffindors and Slytherins jeered at each other. Credence always thought of Modesty whenever he saw rowdy students, remembering how well behaved and well-mannered that girl had been. He took that for granted, evidently.

Children were typically rather mean, Credence had come to learn.

"Alright, take your seats, take your seats." Professor Slughorn bellowed at the room. "Since its Valentine’s Day, I wanted to be a little festive."

A large cauldron bubbled on his desk, liquid already brewing inside it.

"Amortentia -- the potion of love!" Professor Slughorn declared dramatically.

Girlish giggles broke out across the room.

The professor dove into his lecture, explaining the needed ingredients and their precise amounts. Credence leaned back against the classroom, letting his mind wander. He had assisted with this lesson two times this morning, and he doubted the professor would add anything he hadn’t in his previous lecture.

He flipped his long hair over his left shoulder, and he let his mind wander to Newt Scamander.

He had a dinner date with him tonight.

Well, not a date date --- but…was it?

It was Valentine’s Day, after all.

_Fuck Valentine's Day, really._

It was something Percival would have said, but Credence could not help but agree. The holiday annoyed him, but he was never really sure why. Something about it just grated on his nerves. Undoubtedly, it had _something_ to do with the fact that it reminded him of Percival.

_But what didn't remind him of Percival?_

"Mr. Barebone, will you come mix this for me?" the professor beckoned him for the third time that day.

Credence had to fight an eye roll before he went to the cauldron on the desk.

Of course, it wasn't that he was tired of helping -- he had no problem doing things for the professor, or any Hogwarts professor that asked for his assistance.

It was the overpowering stench of whiskey that he was forced to smell every time he came near Amortentia.

Credence sighed as he grabbed the ladle, stirring counter clockwise like the instructions advised.

Again, the smell of whiskey filled his nostrils. He tried to keep his face devoid of emotion, and listened on as Professor Slughorn went around inspecting the potions that the students had made.

But then -- a whiff of orange tickled his nose.

Credence couldn’t help but smile.

 _Maybe..._ he thought -- maybe tonight, he might try and bake another cake.

**END.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day!
> 
> Ok wow. 
> 
> So, getting this out of the way: I'm really sorry that the tags or summary or lack there of mislead/upset some people. I do promise to be better about that in the future. 
> 
> Truthfully, honestly, the only real plan I had for this was the rape scene. Past that, I was honestly making things up as I went along and kind of getting a vague idea from where it was heading from there. I had a lot of indecision about how I wanted to end it. To have them live happily ever after all of that just didn't really seem right. But at the same time, I wanted to absolve Graves of some of the guilt because I don't think anyone wants to think Graves would be capable of doing such a thing, at least to Credence. And to me, saying he was shit faced drunk still didn't convince me that he would lose THAT MUCH agency. Although yes, I do realize that it is possible and has happened in some cases. Also this is probably not a big deal, but I didn't remember that alcohol was illegal in America from 1920-1930 until the last three chapters, and idk if anyone even caught that, but it was kind of a glaring plot hole to me when I did realize it. But I am god awful at history. So yes, I do realize the love potion twist was kind of forced/sudden -- but to me it was really the only way I could, to my satisfaction anyway, tie things together. No, I don't know why Grindlewald would put Amortentia in in Graves drink. Maybe he intended to feed either Credence or Graves the potion to make things easier on him. Maybe I'll write something on it later. Or some kind of sequel where Credence fights Grindlewald and gets revenge idk.
> 
> And to really quick answer some left over questions that I didn't really get to work into the story: 
> 
> -The combination of the alcohol, ptsd, and amortentia was all in all for the purpose of keeping Graves' agency/true motives as ambiguous as possible. For the most part, I had planned to keep it strictly to the alcohol/ptsd but I was getting the air that some people couldn't quite grasp that that concept alone would make Graves so Jekyll and Hyde.  
> -The reason he mentioned the Imperius was because I think, with Graves as strong as he is, he would have moments of clarity and that was one of them -- but he wouldn't really be the source of his mind control so to speak was.  
> -Newt did take the blame for what happened to Graves, no he didn't tell Credence exactly what he saw. I do think Graves had a few more romps with Credence than was written out, but Credence just perceived them as nightmares and Graves got better at obliviating/cleaning up.  
> -Tried to leave the Crewt ish ness ambiguous at the end as well, but its still kind of there. 
> 
> I think that's it. All that being said, while this was a good story to serve as a warm up since I haven't written fanfiction since like 2011, I am honestly kind of glad to see it go. I will continue to write -- namely, I have some Gradence fic ideas for a religion themed series that's blasphemous as hell. But oh well. 
> 
> I promise I'll be better about tagging going forward. :) Thanks for all who read/reviewed/kudos'ed/subscribed!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Find me on tumblr at http://phantasmiicparade.tumblr.com/


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